@bookish1 I went out late last night under the stars and rather than tie up at the dock this morning, I just tossed my hook a few yards off shore. This morning I looked out the hatch and found myself closed in by a flotilla of sailing vessels. No slips at the dock, every thing’s full. From the flags I see on their port spreaders, most are out of St. Kitts, B.V.I., some US ensigns, and a Union Jack. They are all flying the Q on starboard, so this is probably their first port of call in Dominica. Brits and Americans. They are rafting. It’s a fucking blockade. Be generous Corpus, be nice…
Earlier I heard the theme from Out of Africa drifting my way. Sweet stuff to wake up to. Now it’s Steely Dan. Probably my age group. Soon it will be Zeppelin, Black Dog, and by the time they play When the Levee Breaks with their woofers maxed, they’ll have gotten into the hard stuff and the Jamaican Redbud. My generation, recently on furlough, temporarily released into the wild from their corporate confines.
“My name is Legion…” It was unavoidable, I suppose. Tucari Bay is small, pretty, becalmed by the surrounding hills and usually vacant. I always thought it would make a good rendezvous. I guess some other goddamned genius figured it out, too. It’s about 1pm, my intruders are slowly appearing on decks. Be nice, Corpus…
In the meantime, I’m under the shade of the tarp on deck observing my neighbors with mixed proprietary feelings and those of propriety. I’m reading Nick Tosche’s King of the Jews and David Halberstam’s The Fifties. It’s a nice day. Soon, I’ll take the dinghy into town for a late lunch. When I get back, there will be more even craft out here, they will be in pirate mode, feeling their oats and there will be invitations to board. The women will be experiencing that weird kind of horniness, vanilla with strong primal urges to do something they’ve never done before, but they don’t know what it is. They are clumsy in this way. They will be layered with weak defenses. God, I feel like a predator.