Sheriff was upset and I didn’t much blame him. Since his time twitch, he’d tasted the lash himself and discovered very quickly how cruel life really was. I’d learned that lesson myself as a young man in the rock and dirt of some far, foreign desert. Veterans of Foreign Wars indeed! That term didn’t even begin to embrace what it truly entailed. Perhaps a better name would be the “Innocence Lost beyond Recovery Drinking Club”. Once stained the innocent soul can never be pure again, a remnant of that staining always remains and while it might create an appealing design it still remains a stain. Perfection has been ruined.

We were drinking together in silence, with only occasional words shared. It seemed we were both contemplating the same thing; it was comforting to not be alone, while doing so.

An odd pet peeve of mine from the modern world entered my head and I chuckled out loud. That drew an inquisitive look from Sheriff. It was so appropriately inappropriate, I couldn’t help but laugh.

Sheriff just had to know, “What the fuck, Zach?”

I was still cracking up and trying to control myself, “I was thinking about arguments we would have as young couples.”

I slowly brought myself under control, “Fierce arguments about the idea of, 'baby learning to sleep alone, in its own bed, and in a dark room.'”

He reflected for a moment and said, "Yeah, we had those too. So what?”

I got serious, “I hated the idea that the first lesson a kid learned in its new, strange world, was that the only two people the child recognized and loved, would abandon it to a dark room by itself and not come to rescue it. Those a baby trusted most, left it to face fears it didn’t even understand.”

“So, congratulations modern world, you have automated disenchantment, along with assembly of the automobile.”

Sheriff started giggling also. It only took a moment for him to tie it altogether. He was barely able to hold it in as we exchanged corny cheap shots, “Venture forth, child of mine, with the unshakable faith that we will abandon you in your darkest of times…” “Have you met our good friend, Dr. Suicide?” and so forth. We even devolved to the “Sorry kid, Daddy needs a blowjob” level. We flat out were losing it.

Yeah, we were stressed and tested the limits of the absurd. Amos interrupted us; the boats had arrived.

**** ****

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

As we neared quayside, I realized that I didn’t need to be down there. I would be nothing but a hinderance on a good day, and probably an out-and-out problem this evening. My love of coffee wasn’t doing me any favors. I was wide awake and in the mood for hot sex or bloody havoc and I didn’t care which, at that moment.

Timmons and the captains met us on the way down. They took control and informed us we were going to Quayside Pub, and that’s all there was to it. I wanted available women and they took me to a Captains House, bastards!

We sat at another long table and had coffee while they discussed business and I fumed. Now the itch for a fight overwhelmed logic. Everything said offended me. I was aggravated and spoiling for trouble.

At that point, I was suddenly on the move again. I was told later that Patrick had realized, in an instant, the signs of a man about to lose it. Apparently, he had seen it before. He was fetching one of his mates when he ran across the Jewish tradesmen with their wounded Rabbi. The Rabbi took charge and they decided to save the world from me.

From what I actually remember, I was suddenly plucked off the bench and the Rabbi was talking in my ear. Patrick and his buddy had my hands firmly under control. Immediate action wasn’t an option because I was surrounded by a crowd of men.

The Rabbi, bless his heart, loudly deemed that I was to enjoy the spoils of my success. I was promptly toted out the door. At that point, I really expected to be bathing in the Missouri within moments. Instead, I was deposited on a crude stool in a rundown boatsman’s pub.

Part of me realized that it was Byrne’s beer that I was drinking. That was the part of me that made me slow down a little. My bartender was the same lady that had served me my supper and drinks earlier. Well, she was that or her twin sister. I was hoping for twins. Regardless, she flirted aggressively with me. She was also the waitress, so she moved around constantly. Still, it seemed like I always had a smooth hand running across an innocent part of my body.

Everybody else stayed away from me and there was no one to argue or fight with, so my thoughts turned to other things. I think her name was Sinclaire or maybe it was Sinful Claire or something else entirely.

An hour later, I was in drunken love and, to be totally honest, it was fun. I dug in my pockets for money once and she grabbed my face in both hands and got my attention. “You don’t pay here, Zach. What’s offered is because I want to and it’s fun and you own the place, so the drink is yours.”

I was stunned and I was suddenly struck by the frequency of those types of statements in my life lately. What was fun, when it simply seemed to be a lottery splurge in modern times, was beyond significant in this day and age. These were people.

On the plus side, I guess I owned a dive bar. Perhaps we could offer karaoke? I made myself laugh when I thought that and, out of the blue, I started drunkenly singing out loud.

I wear my sunglasses at night

So I can, so I can

Watch you weave then breathe your story lines

And I wear my sunglasses at night

So I can, so I can

Keep track of the visions in my eyes - Cory Hart, 1983

I think that was the point where Sinful Claire led me away to a bed. I don't recall much, but since I woke up alone and fully dressed, it's a pretty good bet a lot of promises, both spoken and unspoken, went unfulfilled.