Dockworker

Some jobs shape the coast.
Some shape the people who work it.

Early mornings.
Cold steel.
Fog drifting between cranes and hulls.
Hands that know rope, rust, and rhythm.

The dock is its own universe.
Loud when it wants to be.
Silent when it matters most.

For those who move the harbor.
For travelers who respect the strength behind every ship that sails.

Wear the grit.
Carry the tide.