A.G.E's Joint

"Beer?" Nodding, Jim took the bottle. Jerry''s boat was nice, but he'd rather have gone back to his trailer. The bong looked lonely on the table next to him. and Should he? Hell, yes. The whole dive kept rolling like a endless looped movie. Mere alcohol wasn't going to be enough. Even weed may not be enough, but at least the view will change. The bag was in his jacket pocket. Looking intently, he could still see sticky sap on the leaves. And more than enough for now. Loaded and fired, smoke filled the short glass tube. Rings curled as communion was passed. Burning his fingers with the lighter, Jim drew like there was no tomorrow. The quicker conscious thought is obliterated, the better. Almost imperceptibly, the edges of the day-mare blurred and time began to drag. He looked over the stern rail into the moonless sky. Cabin lights looked like eyes peeping at them. No words had been said on the way back to the dock. Even stowing gear didn't draw a

Swimming downward, the view through the mask resembled an old photograph, brittle and sepia toned. Silt filtered through the yellow rays of the sun gave only a few feet of visibility. Thee were no schools of fish like in the Gulf, just the occasional bass or crappy snooping around the bones of long flooded pines, their tentacle like branches flowing with the wakes. Easy to get into trouble. Snag an air hose and you were done for the day, assuming you could make it back to the surface. Several had died and Jim wasn't interested in joining that group. Jerry pointed off to the left to an eerie sight. Just past a tree was a large shape poking upright in the mud, the Last Chance. The shallow draft boat listed slightly port, bow resting on a rock. The bridge and superstructure was still intact. That was easy. Maybe a little too easy. Carefully dodging a branch, they swam towards the stern. A catfish slithered out from under a rock, startled by the strange movement. The short tra

Light was breaking the tops of the trees as Jim watched for obstructions. Sipping from his cup, he winced. God, the store coffee sucked. Oh, well. Nothing was perfect. But all in all, the trip out was uneventful for this "Choose Your Adventure" lake outing. No rain, engine issues or drunk jet ski nuts to ruin things. Flipping up his cap up, the red bandanna mopped the up the sweat. What a deal. How many fifty year olds had the balls to take on a wild goose chase? Jobs or usually wives came first. But for Jim, there was no wife and never will be. Boat bunnies kept him happy and rarely pushed for anything permanent. If one got mad, there were two more ready to take their place. And It helped he was his own boss, buying and selling marine gear on contract. It had been a Havana Daydreaming kind of life with no regrets. Dropping out of college and never quite fitting anywhere, he still made his way. The last place he was before he came to the lake, a girl he had dated t

There is an ancient screed of crap... A.G.E. Rants The muddled mind of a deranged man.

The adventure had been born in a bar, complete with champagne dreams and caviar wishes. It wasn't Aruba or anything, just a two guys in a bass boat skimming towards destiny. Or at least they hoped so. The yellow scuba tanks were strapped below the stern rail for balance. Not a bad choice. Traffic in the main channel was heavy, the chop made everything shake as they made their way toward a cove about a mile from the marina. The dive target was a 46 foot custom houseboat named Last Chance Harvey . The wreck had ghosts . It had been a showpiece. Two bedrooms with mirrored ceilings below deck and a huge party bar on top. Dark wood rails and fake gold trim. A bit of ostentatious consumption reflecting of money made quickly and not necessarily legally. The original owner, Harvey Lloyd, deliberately sank it in response to a fraud investigation. Lloyd had been a con artist who hit the big time brokering a three way coke deal with some guys down South, a relationship that seemed to k