Here I attempt to write a story before I enter the tunnel:

A storm-front could be seen racing towards the harbor that morning, the dark expanse laden with rain and punctuated with intermittent flashing. Joel studied the clouds only briefly, then turned again to his duties on the dock. His father’s small fishing company had weathered storms like the one that approached now, but only barely. Securing the boats, a meager fleet of three, would only do so much against hurricane strength winds and waves. Joel knew that the best his father could hope for was the fleet being dashed against the docks, not sunk underneath.

Tunnel approaching.