To the sounds of a DJ playing spinning 60’s tunes the sun is steadily tugging cover of night from the east over the SKINWALKER. There is a seriously overweight manatee floating in peaceful slumber 50 foot from the boat bobbing like a gray cork in the Manatee Cove Marina basin. Once every few minutes it slow raises its ugly head exposing his nose to breath and more frequently raises its tail to pass gas. Have you ever in your life encountered a worse scent than a manatee fart? Three tight body soldiers, female, tight jeans, tight shirts, head for the tiki bar to pick up a man for the night or perhaps longer. An unknown group is covering “I can’t help falling in love”, while two airmen attempt to sing along. An enlisted Mom in uniform escorts her two kids along the dock. Two staff Sergeants un-tip two plastic pipe chairs and pull them up to the plastic table to the threads of a Hawaiian slide guitar piece while the wind complains moderately overhead. The manatee farts again and the very slight current slowly draws the sleepy creature closer to our boat. It is 76.6 degrees and the low puffy clouds explain the barometer is rising. The slide guitar morphs into a quick island tune with the steel drums attempting to keep up with the fast paced vocals of a Jam’ mon. Forest fatigues flood the tiki hut and a girl with huge breast and a tight knit V tee draws their attention as she walks up—with a guy. I can almost hear the disappointed groans wrenched from the fatigues of whom most will not get laid tonight. The DJ sits stoic, bored with his sloppy and ill-prepared set of ancient music nobody really cares much about except those already drunk. Big breasts and her beau come by and chat up Lynn, who is sitting on the back deck, as the band in the box sputters out a medley of old Christian tunes promising this Little Light of Mine, Swing Lo Sweet Chariot, The River is Deep and Wide and others. The DJ’s play list is eclectic if nothing else.
Tonight the water will sparkle with phosphorescence as I urinate into it or a mullet jumps or the manatee farts sending up a mass of bubbles that excite the creatures that glow. I sneer in disgust, yet happy for the manatee in that its flatulence excites something. Red, Red Wine accompanies the slow sensuous bootie rhythm as a woman moves it gently back up against a sergeant that pretends to ignore her. Jimmy Buffet laments his lost shaker of salt followed by Eilene Quinn doing an unorthodox version of What do You do With a Drunken Sailor.
Hot damn, I love my life,
Bones
