He’d overcorrected again. He pulled back on the joystick that controlled the winch to slow and stop the container’s descent.The lasher waiting to signal him to release the crane spreader extended his hands out wide, palms up. A silent “what the fuck is wrong with you tonight?” from below. He’d been fine until his coffee break an hour ago. The cup of bitter black coffee and the energy drink he’d chugged seemed like they were putting him to sleep rather than waking him up. For the last hour, he’d been forced to slow down. He kept making stupid mistakes, kept overcorrecting, and between shipping containers, he had to fight to keep his eyes open.When the container was steady again, Patrick eased the lever forward and lowered the container into the center row on the barge. He watched the lashers scurry around it, marveling at how much they looked like tiny spiders, using their hands and feet to steady themselves on the top of the neighboring containers. When the radio signal came to release the container, he went through the motions in a haze, hoisting the spreader assembly.
