So far, the summer here in Ohio has been hot, real hot and while the details in the following tale might not be worth remembering at least it will remind me of the message.

As a dreamer of dreams and a traveling man
I have chalked up many a mile
Read dozens of books about heroes and crooks
And I learned much from both of their styles

Excerpt from the Jimmy Buffett tune called “Son of a Son of a Sailor”

It’s a lazy Sunday afternoon and I’m sitting at the bar nursing a few cold ones and watching the remnants of some baseball game. The golf has been played, the lawn has been mowed and the vegetable garden tended to. The place is its usual empty self save for the few regulars who call this oasis home. The server, a beautiful thing with blond hair that stretches down the length of her back is bored and not being a sports enthusiast is sitting down at a nearby table reading the weekly free alternative newspaper.

She walks into the kitchen and returns with a veggie platter for herself. She probably figures “What the hell, I might as well have a little nibble in case it gets busy later.” It’s not long afterwards when the owner of the place comes in with only the air of superiority that an owner can have and plops himself down at one of the tables up front. He’s one of those self described head honcho’s who involvement in local politics outweighs his actual position. He is, for a lack of a better term, the male equivalent of high maintenance. He doesn’t ask, he demands.

She takes his order and pretends to look busy but somehow after a few minutes I feel a presence behind my back. I cast a sideways glance and notice her standing close behind me with a sly grin across her face. I ask her what she’s doing.

And the lady she hails from Trinidad
Island of the spices
Salt for your meat, and cinnamon sweet
And the rum is for all your good vices.

”I don’t want him to see me so I’m hiding behind you, eating a piece of cheese.”

I got real kick out of that one and jokingly told her that was about the sexiest thing anybody had said to me in a long, long time.

There always seems to be a palpable sense of relief when the owner leaves and this time was no different. After the customary wishing of good nights and safe travels the tension seemed to have left the room. The balloon was now deflated.

I bought a round of shots for the bartender, server and myself and not long afterwards headed on out the door.

I guess intimacy comes in many forms. Whether it’s of a physical or sexual nature or whether it’s in the form of a shared secret really doesn’t matter. I guess it can be found over the course of a lifetime or in one covert moment when nobody else is looking.

Or maybe stashed away in a daylog for future reference.

One last thing, today marks my nine year anniversery here at E2. I want to thank everybody for all the help and advice and wisdoms that were offered up during that time. Let's hope the next nine years are just as enjoyable.

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