You have a wench bring you a wooden bottle of ale. You go alone to a empty table near the back. You are drinking to get drunk and thinking about life as it once was back home. You think about you job refurbishing rubber duckies. You think about your other job, a part time gig and smaltsdale, a argayle only men's clothing store. Eighteen hours a week making the shelves look pretty and organizing the warehouse. You think about your truck/car. Your Brontomaro, looks like a camero with a flatbed. The only vehicle you have ever owned. You first tasted sex and beer in this car/truck. A slow tear goes down you face as you chug ale and think. You order another round for yourself. Then you think about your girl, Oh! Sweet soft Tannis. If only you could be in her arms right now. You put your head down into the cradle of your arms on the table and you cry. When you lift your head again you find yourself back home! You are sitting at your kitchen table looking at the green stove and the protective oven mittens hanging from it. Was this all a dream? A vision? You felt a tug of wieght at your hips. You are dressed like a pirtate. A flintlock gun hangs on one hip, a sword hangs from the other.