The sailor on the land

Martin took his yachting cap off as vanity. He just has left his durable ship. Martin stayed there among other vicious and depraved people and thought about his future. He moved his salient big chin and held his hands behind as if they had been pinned together with handcuffs. He wanted to become wealthy, so what should he do? Become a paperhanger? Or chose another nefarious occupation? Firstly he should attempt to prowl into his vault, his lonely home. He bought a dark lantern and gum shoes on his last money and set off. 

Before the leaving 5 years ago he swath all the furniture in his pure house in a dust protectors and now he found all the things on their places. He hadn’t been there for 5 years! And what did he possess? His haul was rather scant: stickpin, crumpled roll of bills, some salve and exorbitant sense of pain in his abdomen. Martin uttered a squeaky groan with a contortion of his lineaments. What’s the matter with his throat? It seemed that he had a flu. He suffered from an inflammatory process in his ears too. But flu couldn’t afflict the sailor, he glanced at a windowsill where he stored his plunder and found an opened bottle of old rum. He snapped “Cheers” and drank three gulps. Martin hoisted his hand claw and took a rattlesnake from the shelf as if they are old pals. Then he ate a buckeye to prevent a steady pain and experienced a relief. A high humidity and a lack of moistures constrainedly hypnotized Martin and he got into his duds and left the vault.