So there's Lou, legendary boatman gently asleep on his cradle of a dory, rocking to the rhythm of the eddy, right next to me, stars above like sugar frosting on a chocolate suicide cake.
Then, there's Todd (names will be changed for the obvious reason), a.k.a.: dad, stumbling around the littered beach by his headlamp, searching for Dottie. Dottie is his missing daughter. He, like most of us oldies, likes to drop off to slumberland earlier than the young-uns. He's just awoke to nature's call (again, like us oldies), to find Dot's sleeping gear untouched. Seems that, during his stumbles, he came across Blake's untouched gear as well. Dot's nineteen. Blake's 20. Connecting?
First thing Todd can focus on is that boat bobbing on shore, held down by Lou. Naturally, he rousts Lou and tells his tale of woe and loss.
"I can't find my daughter. And I can't find Blake!"
Lou, ever steady in the rapid's maw or faced with clientele drama, blinks.
"Um, Todd. I, uh, well I don't think she's in harm's way" and then he rubs his eyes, satisfied.
"But I'm her father!", says Todd. Yet, somehow the logic sinks in, as does his urgent need, and he wanders off. Next morning, old Ben, solid ex-navy guest/helper at the dish line, sees Dot washing her red plastic breakfast plate on the other side of the pails.
"Whoa! What's that red mark! Looks like a vampire's been sucking on your neck!
"Oh! Um, I must have missed that spot with the sunscreen…"
A rather good morning, I'd say, all in all.
