As the first faint rays of pink sunlight began to peek over the granite cliffs, perfectly signaling the start of the highly coveted “golden hour,” the influencers began to emerge from their pristine yachts. They were fully dressed in expensive designer maritime clothing, holding specialized cameras and steaming gourmet lattes, ready to capture the romantic, peaceful morning harbor.
At exactly that precise moment, Arthur gave the official signal. Jenkins violently yanked the frayed pull-cord on his massive, gas-powered commercial meat grinder. The incredibly loud, deafening roar of the rusty two-stroke engine completely shattered the peaceful morning silence like a massive bomb going off.
Simultaneously, Pete fired up an industrial-strength mechanical power washer, aggressively blasting decades of accumulated, foul-smelling algae, bird droppings, and black sea-slime directly off the ancient wooden pilings into the air.
But the terrible, deafening mechanical noise was absolutely nothing compared to the apocalyptic, invisible wave of sheer horror that was about to physically hit the luxurious yachts.