The World of Christina Oxenberg – Welcome to the Woolgathering…

While it’s true the mates did get lucky after the disastrous July 4th fireworks cruise, the collateral damage from that night was a girl named Nelly.
Saturday night, exactly one week later Nelly was primped and awaiting. Nelly was on the early side

to arrive at the bar. She knocked back some shots and then bought herself a beer, and a second one, and took up her position. She was waiting for him.
The mates, Boat Boys, you’ll spot them in the evenings, traveling in pods. Surging into bars or looping around town in bicycle gangs, hunting for the choicest place to perch, in pursuit of fun.
The band was taking a break when Pirate Bob and his buddies arrived. Somehow Nelly missed him as he got himself a drink and sauntered outside, to linger on the sidewalk, in an optimal position from where he could leisurely catch up with whomever meanwhile dragnet the incoming krill.
This being around midnight, in Key West, the clock had struck play time.
Pirate Bob was lighting a cigarette when Nelly first saw him. With a beer in each hand she made her way over to him, the man of her dreams.
Exhaling a

stream of gray smoke it was too late when Pirate Bob’s vision crystallized on the blonde in front of him. As the smoke cleared he saw she was tall, slim, and her long blonde hair cascaded in wavy clumps. And then he realized he knew her, and he froze.
She was holding two filled plastic cups of beer. She stared at him as if in a trance. With her narrow face, and her wide dark almond eyes, long lashes casting shadows, her eyelids were half closed, as if perhaps she was deep in thought.
Pirate Bob looked around for an escape route.
“Svor you,” Nelly said, and pressed one of her beer cups against him, her tanned arm pecking forward, the beer cialis no prescription sloshing to the edge. The liquid splashed onto his shirt.
“No thanks Nelly.”
“Thish svor you,” she said, again ramming the spare beer at him, so that much of it tipped onto his shorts.
She stared dreamily as meanwhile the object of her affection was gingerly taking steps away, so she followed, and her every thrust was met with a rupture in the matrix. She was grappling, lost in quicksand. She saw a man who to her was perfection. Ever since their one night together she had daydreamed of him, endlessly. She had married him, raised their kids.
Once more she pressed the beer on him, most of what was left in it spilled on his feet.
“Can I call you a cab?” Pirate Bob said.
But she shook her head and with a couple of practiced spins Pirate Bob vanished into the crowd. Later he explained, “Nelly’s a good girl, but she is road kill.”