Left me. I’m not through with this. I’ve got another hour I can steal Wi-Fi before Claude shows for dinner. I don’t know when I’ll get online again this week with all the freaking junk I have to get done for my Captain’s papers. I need Leesie to know I’m not going anywhere. I won’t be drowning my sorrows in easy Thai flesh. I’m not wandering down to the beach to get off on that big-breasted German girl who was frolicking in the waves yesterday. I won’t ask this little waitress for her number. I’m Leesie’s. She’s stuck. I start an email, but it sucks. I’ve given her all the promises I can. I trash it and start surfing for laptops. Load up my basket with tip-top stuff. Throw in a new cell, too. With an international plan billed to me. Amazing what you can do on the net. Hope she gets the message. LEESIE’S MOST PRIVATE CHAPBOOKPOEM # 54, EXPRESS DELIVERY The bell tower chimes six when I open the door. No cooking smells tickle my nose. No jabbering, no laughter, no high-pitched voices defending their turf.
