Call me Ishmael-709.

I’ve had enough of this watery planet. The mad Captain Ahab-1216 has chased this electric monster across the galaxy and I’m tired. Just floating here amongst the wreck of the Pequod-2689.

I think about all the numbers attached to names and wonder how those numbers were determined. My mother told me it was to keep all the names separate and unique.

Floating, bobbing up and down on a grog barrel, watching the remains of Moby-Dick 2035 sink under the surface to its watery grave.

I’ll join you soon, in Davy Jones’ locker, I think, and wonder why Mr. Jones doesn’t have his own number.