Joakim headed back to his cabin, hoping for a noteless door. Relief and a clean door intersected when Joakim reached into his pocket and pulled out a key. The key went click, the door opened, Joakim took a step, and everything went black.
His head felt like broken vodka bottles and St. Elmo’s fire as the clouds lingered in his vision. Trying to get to his feet, Joakim stumbled and fell back down. It was a decent time for a rest, Joakim thought. Random muscles and bones lit up in pain like a flashing line of Christmas lights. He let out a chuckle, thinking that whatever message his opposition was attempting to send was weak. They could beat him down, but he was not going to capitulate. Not now, not never. He laid down on his back, stared at the ceiling, and tried to make light of the events which led to his busted up frame. He meticulously calculated the moments and happenings. He wrapped up a few ideas, moved his head to the right and spotted a foreign object lying next to a broken desk lamp. Adjusting himself semi-upright, Joakim reached out and grabbed a business card. It was the essence of simplicity. There was a red zero printed upon a blue background.
Joakim cranked his head to the left, to an open port window. The sun cut through the opening into his cabin. He heard a few seagulls squawking. He noticed a potted plant with yellow flowers praying to the sun on a shelf below the window. He looked back to the port window and noticed a few clouds on the horizon, moving in. He felt like flying.
Meanwhile, on the opposite end of the ship, a used car salesman sat in his dark cabin. The thickset, balding man had tweezers in hand as he added the mast to a tiny clipper inside a bottle. Surrounding him were dozens of completed examples of the very piece he was working on. Sure, they varied here and there. Some were English vessels, some Dutch, some Cantonese, but all were smaller than their source and all were bottled.
This scene confuses me.