His name was Stalley, Capt. James Stalley. This is a tale about how he lived and died by the sea, on his own terms even to the very end. I remember his last words to me, “Everything goes and everything returns Faulkner! Let time do its deed and ye’ll all be home safe, I promise ya that!” We were all wet, bruised, and beaten.
I rub my hands together like a lion licks its tongue when the prey is in sight and down those shots like a walk through the children’s playground. The other attendees look at me in amazement. I must look like Superman in their eyes. Either that or they must think my whole family died in a third world crisis or something.
A black sky and no stars, something I’m accustomed to seeing. Fire escapes, garbage cans, dumpsters, dirty gold windows with beige blinds allowing the light from an age-old lamp to shine through. I see it all the time. Another thing I'm accustomed to seeing is my legs sprawled like I’d been jumped by gang members and stripped clean.