Delays, Delays

Sorry for the hold-up on posting page two--it has been that kind of week!


Page two....whatchya' think?

          Rich lived on what would have once, a long time ago, been considered a yacht. She was a thirty-six foot cabin cruiser, tied to the quiet municipal dock in Ellison Bay. Since he avoided maintenance like the plague, it was showing its age. A once brilliant green hulled, white trimmed boat with powerful, classical lines, she now sat a little low in the water due to a finicky bilge pump and the paint was flaking in a few sections. The deck planks were slightly warped with age and the stain varied in color due to exposure to wind and rain. Everything aside though, the engines still ran well and the boat cut through the waves like the day it was launched.

          Propping his feet up against the starboard rail, Rich crossed his arms against the chilly early fall breeze blowing steam from the top of his mug. The harbor, if it could be called such, hadn't been touched by the county construction crews since the mid-eighties. The cracked concrete, pale from age with faint lines marking twelve parking stalls, nearly butted up against the stern of Rich's boat. The bow looked out past a few pleasure cruisers and small sailboats onto the large bowl-shaped body of water that was Ellison Bay. Majestic bluffs rose more than a hundred and fifty feet on both ends of the bay, nearly completely covered with cedar trees, clinging to the cliffs. The town itself was huddled on the southeast corner of the bay and had a total of only seven buildings. It was classical small midwestern town, something right out of The Andy Griffith Show. The small diner was on the only intersection in town, across the street from the grocer, and right down from the coffee shop and gas station, which was one of the few who still serviced cars. Up the road were three inns who scraped up just enough tourist business each season to keep their doors open.