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Better than the bar scene? Easily. |
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I met him online on a dating site dedicated to fringe lunatics and sex aficionados. He had a wry sense of humor and liked to dance to zydeco. He invited me to meet him at the Cape Isabel, a huge cargo ship docked in Terminal Island.
I was passed through the guard booth. The night was balmy. The harbor twinkled like opening night at the opera. I boarded Cape Isabel’s cargo hold in my car. The engineer met me in the hold, and I followed him to his cabin. We had the huge ship to ourselves. We smoked reefer. He took me on a tour. In the engine room I snapped a picture of him and the sleeping 35,000 horsepower engine that’s his baby, his charge. He had a nice, proud air about him. All American with a twist. Then we climbed up to the chart room. He presented me with maps. So if I ever have to dock my ship in Los Angeles or San Francisco, I can now sound the bottoms of those harbors. We made love. Afterward he sat in a straight back chair in only his socks and played the guitar and sang and I snapped his picture. I followed him out on the bridge. He smoked a cigarette. He tossed a beer bottle into the inky water below. He flicked his butt over the railing and threw some switches. We went back up to the cabin. It was a good date. We were two ships passing. Let’s just leave it at that.
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