The water looks like oil beneath the kayak as you row across it in the direction of where Barry's boat is usually anchored.
"Why do you think he's been sleeping in his boat?" you ask Addy.
"Maybe something's wrong with his house," they suggest. "Or maybe he lost his keys and is too perpetually hammered to figure out what to do about it, I don't know."
Sure enough, as the kayak glides up next to Barry's boat, the Wet Dream, you see him dozing in front of one of those old, small, portable television sets through the cabin door. Up close, it's a nicer boat than you remembered, or it was at one point. It's larger than most of the lobster boats you see in the area, which are admittedly fairly small, though the paint job is looking a little rough. A couple of bottles, one whiskey and the other a forty ounce bottle of malt liquor, sit out in the open near you.
"Barry?" you call out.
"What?" he shouts back.
"We need to talk!" Addy says.
Barry sticks his head out the door to take a look at who's talking.
"Buzz off!" he yells.