Date: 8/28/2017
By seascarlet
I was in Victorian England with my sister, as an American. I found a place in town where canoes were used to get somewhere else. Not in the main part of the Thames, but somewhere the water was more narrow and obstructed somewhat by bridges and industry. I had heard the canoe rides were nice and upscale, but this place seemed scary and downtrodden. I asked a local man about it, as well as the safety of going. He said that the area had degraded in recent times, but at least the rides were free. As for safety, the people were just poor so crime was sometimes inevitable. Everyone from homeless people to poor scholars took the route. I decided to take it. When I got to the dock, there was still one boat left and I claimed it. A woman was complaining that some of the boats were full of the bones of homeless people who had died in them. I spoke up and said that yeah, we should clean the boats out just for her, insinuating that she was being picky and overly demanding.