"The night before as I tried to sleep there was a light on somewhere in my mind. As hard as I tried I could only find a faded and worn darkness. Today there was perfect blue around me, on me, in me--like that egg of a sun had finally been cracked and beaten into the blue. Could a life be lived like that? When the warm breeze comes along and makes you think that everything is the same such that the thought of the grey seems the skeptic's very pith. I can't be surprised that I was able to see it coming--looking back I've always seen it coming. He ws right when he said that the world was round. We think we're chasing the twilight when we're really just chasing our tails. Well, as the sun sets slowly so I commit my body--the soul's vessel--to the sea with this our faithful boat--a vessel in an unmetaphorical sense--the last great sailor has finally weighed anchor for good. "

"I don't even know what that means Captain. You've got the prickly heat again. OK, you're the last great sailor but that doesn't mean you have to prove it by drinking sea water by the bucket like this. We have that pump and the boat hasn't even taken on that much water. It was just a little spray."

"Sure you're a little green around the gills...that reminds me, can fish smell? If so, do they do such out their gills?"
"It would be in their gills not out."
"What?"
"I don't feel much like talking Captain."
"What was I saying...oh yeah, you think you're down and out now but have you ever had nothing to eat but sand? Sure, but have you ever had nothing to drink but sand? Well, I didn't think so. Between you and me I don't recommend any wild weekends in Juarez--you can never trust a place that's land locked. Take it from me, you just don't feel alive when you can't see the swells and smell the mackerel. You see, now finish peeling those yams."

She was a succubus, a cunning temptress, adroit acrobat, competent ornithologist and celebrated sprinter. She was also the operative that I was tasked with eliminating from the CIA's list of violent femmes and enraged suffragettes--me, a guy who a year ago was deemed unfit for service in the merchant marines after initial testing demonstrated a predisposition and predilection for high stakes games of truth or dare, on the lam now for three years trying to forget that fateful night when all I had to say was "dare" and everything would have remained the same--still living in Dubuque with Basque seperatist wife, Fabiola, and three loving children, Toulouse, The Greek, and Little Chaka, still eating the same old Basque finger sandwiches that Fabiola made, still watching The Greek excell at home economics and civics, still trying to find the time to fix the roof, still wondering how long I had to stay away from rhubarb before the swelling would go down, still a palooka. What happened? Well, I can't tell you that but let's just say that a poster campaign to end women's suffrage I had made in the 12th grade finally caught up with me. I'd approach, ostensibly inquiring about the eating habits of the tufted puftin, and she'd withdraw. She'd approach, lured by the identity I'd assumed which held itself out as an expert in ancient kitchenware, ostensibly to ask about a 8th century fork that she had a line on in Oman, and I'd withdraw. And so we danced--both knowing full well that one of us would win, one would lose, both understanding that the future vindication of our respective world beliefs depended on the other lying dead in a kiddy pool, both slaves to the common blood which surged through us demanding with the pound of every heart beat that we don't ask and just take, that we extinguish the flames of our missions by pressing together our wet bodies like amorous seals, both knowing that love, the only adventure we had left, was something the world would not allow us--at least not until it was too late--a series of events having been set in motion that could only end with the world merging back into a single continent under the publicly intrepid urging, and secret machinations, of a single frenchman who dared to dream--a dream from which no one would ever wake up.

"The present is the only time when we touch, the only time when we smell." thought First Mate Mullochnik regrettfully as he began preparations to leave the head.

"Don't smile at me Mitchey!" bellowed the Captain; he continued "You should just let your hair be naturally wavy. We're not pulling over for relaxant once we're on the river!"

"But captain, I meant no offense--I just don't think you would send your subordinates the right message if you wore a lady's fragrance--even if, as you say, in it you smell every one of the manifold mysteries and incantations of the Mississippi."

Sometimes everything around you slows down to such a light trot--sometimes everything seems so perfectly balanced on its head--to such an extent that we almost don't notice that the oxen have become unyoked and empowered.