I miss the smell of wine in the morning. Before we set sail a couple of years ago, i had this ritual of privately celebrating the daily rise and fall of our most intimate star with a bottle of French imported Bordeaux. It steadily progressed into bottles a day until my personal assistant Noel couldn't stand for it anymore and she loved wine more than anyone on this ship...and she's french. Our supply wasn't the issue. I could have my personal cellar restocked for a few generations of men if i wished it. I understand the reason for and appreciate Noel's intervening as i should have months ago when my leadership was in question. I owe her my life and then some but she's paid extremely well so i assume she's content with that. Charming, aren't I?
I still can't believe it's been two years since i left new olrleans. It feels more like ten. I barely step out on deck these days. I think that was the point of it all, if there is any left. Memories lost at sea amid bottles of wine begging to be touched by a crew wearily content with their masters empty voyage. Today should change the past two years. I received word from a good friend in London about the world i've abandoned and how it has changed virtually over night. Should i ignore the cries from dryland once again and drain my tears for my fellow man over the Sea?
Story and characters of
Le Competitor written and created by Jesse S. Montalto on 08/14/10
Copyright © Jesse S.
Montalto, 08/14/10
All Rights Reserved
