Stirfry Neon

Tonight’s lesson: Be very straightforward with people who don’t want their establishments destroyed and miraculous things may happen. And why do I mention that? Well, instead of walking and whistling, what I should have tried was ducking and covering or maybe screaming and sprinting. Have you ever seen a Minotaur on a Jetski? Well, I have and no one has designed the swim shorts that will make that work. Or anything less than terrifying. Not that I am subject to such moments of weakness (clarity). Now pardon me while I run.

The Minotaur could barely manage more than a lumber. A flat out midnight beach sprint wasn’t suited to his bulk or his hooves or his impatient temper. Me, I flew over the sand, heels lightened by that lovely nightmare friend I call panic.There was a pier to the right and a road to the left, but the pier had a small shack with a light in the window at the end, so I headed there. Fishing nets hung low, everywhere, as an unneeded reminder of the tangles I had wandered into. And a smell I almost recognized lingering, not a perfume, but the familiar pungency that Mace used to keep the world more than an arm’s reach away, just barely there, mixed with tobacco fug, whiskey splash and the fetid stench of fish ground into boot treads and scraped across an unfinished floor.  The Minotaur would be right behind. I had maybe two minutes before an angry herd of hooves shook the pier. The bartender glared; I skewed broke, trouble, and drinks things with cocktail umbrellas in them to the professional mixologists. This did not make anyone encourage my return to their establishment. This often worked in my favor. There was always at least one other person who wanted me out of there. Very handy.

I banged into the bar and knocked over at least two barnacled customer’s drinks. They glared. My flared out arm gesture took out a full bottle of something brown. I could make myself unpopular faster than anyone I know. It’s one of my many talents. And my third favorite hobby.

“I’m looking for a lady.” Only leave yourself enough time for the straightforward approach, ”and a big angry destructive guy who’ll think this is a china shop is looking for me.”

He was going to try the stare and the bluff and the brush off but then the first hoof clove into the end of the pier. I settled on the nearest stool, with a nonchalant lean and a this bar I’m putting my sneaks on is getting ripped in half before I am grin. Then I swept three glasses on the floor and pocketed a handful of damp change. Still smiling. Making friends and influencing people on a daily basis, that’s my goal. Thank you, Mr. Carnegie.

And thank you Misters Lee and Chan for all the movies where you ducked and rolled because that’s what I did as the pier’s shuddering hit he danger zone on the thud meter. Mr. Mixologist hit the red zone on the thud meter as well when I landed on top of him, jauntily.  He kicked me off but being used to that I bounced right up and looked for something that might help Minotaur proof me. Which meant turning and tossing bottles off the shelves they were stored on while I tested their heft for swingability. The was the crunch of broken glass and the grind of angry teeth. He grabbed me with one hand, reached under the bar with the other and suddenly I had a clear curved glass bottle with a twinkly cerulean chartreuse liquid shimmering inside.  I think the grunt was “Drink it” although I’m not sure if the grimaced growl covered up a “damn fool” or “damned fool”.

I decided I could skip the glass and umbrella. The bite was much sweeter than the sea. The darkness came quicker than the bellow of the Minotaur.  And the green swirled up around me as the greyness muffled the world.

This is why I rarely take a drink. You never really know where it might take you in return…