Ward swore to himself and made a beeline for the outer deck. It was ten o'clock at night, and apart from a few flickering lights, visibility was poor. He gripped the rail which prevented him and other passengers from falling overboard, and shaking his head from side to side, he bemoaned the fact that the boat was old and dirty. He then peered over the rail and watched as the foam from the black sea splashed against the side of the boat. He observed the sea and listened to the sound of the ferry's tired and aching motors, as they propelled the boat gently through the Channel. The air may have been cold and uninviting, but it was so much better than the air he had been forced to inhale in the bar. There, the sea of bodies stank of stale sweat, they belched, they coughed and they spread germs. The air inside was soiled by all of those fat and ugly bodies, by northern scum and foreign dross. The air outside was pure.
Extract taken from "After Dover" - an ebook for kindle by Luke Ryman.