It's Been a Slow Lazy Day at Casa Aloha

And it really doesn't seem like it's going to get more exciting tonight either. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Today, I talked to my brother (whom you may recall works for a cyber-warfare outfit in the great Northwest...(and the rest is uber-classified) anyways, I got the 4-1-1 from him of his latest exploits, which included CLIMBING MT. RAINIER! Clearly, to anyone who's seen that peak in person, knows that's not a feat to be treated lightly. I'm super impressed, and want to give a hearty "Huzzah!" to that feat. Way to go bro!
(if you're lucky, and he does what he says and writes the story down, I'll post it up here for you to peruse. It's pretty great.)

Anyhoo...last night I did some work on another noir piece, that I think turned out pretty good. Since at the moment, it sits at about an even three pages, I'm not going to show you the whole thing, but here's an excerpt.
(Btw-It takes place on a river-barge.)
(BTW- It's got some, ahem, adult situations, so send the kids off to bed. Now!)
(BTW- I hope you like)

The Helmsman shifted his right hand off the wheel and onto a chrome handle. It clicked forward three notches. The Esmeralda bit into the water, slightly enough, that a landlubber would not have noticed. Both the Captain and the Helmsman knew, and felt the ship move, breaking through, and across the current. The Captain settled back onto his chair, and looked out past the newly steaming mug.
Then the bridge appeared. It was made of two massive concrete arches, that met in the middle of the channel upon a large concrete island. One hundred fifty feet above the river, nestling on the top of the two arches, a road carried cars that zipped across like fireflies. The whole affair was lit up with powerful lights. 'It's worth it,' the Captain thought, 'it's a beautiful bridge.'
The Esmeralda's searchlight hit upon the concrete island, holding up the bridges middle, and drifted past. The Helmsman spoke softly,
"Lovers at nine o'clock."
As the Esmeralda slid past the concrete island, the Captain cast a glance out the open side door of the bridge. It was obvious what was going on.
A man and a woman had defied whatever signs and fences had been put up, and had climbed one of the arches. Probably crawling on their stomachs, they had passed scant inches below the road deck, and then descended down to the concrete island, sitting fifty-feet from either shore, smack in the middle of the river. After a while of sitting in the midst of a suitably romantic setting, making whatever kind of talk a man and a woman make in the middle of a river. They had disrobed, and the man had thrown the woman -hands and face against the beginnings of a massive concrete arch- and was fucking her from behind.
The Esmeralda had moved up so quietly that they hadn't, in the middle of their engagement, noticed. By the time the massive tug's diesels had broken them out of their lover's euphoria, it was too late to adopt any posture of covered shame. They did, what people do constantly to ships and trains and trucks. They waved.
The man pulled himself out of her, gave a shit-eating grin at the boat, made a slight sweep of his hand towards his cock - erect and still glistening with pussy juice, shrugged his shoulders and waved his right arm in a friendly "Hello."
The woman, still in a black bra, faced the boat with a clean-shaven frontal, then reached up with both her arms, and pulled her breasts free. She grabbed one, and pulled it up, so she could lick its nipple. Then she gave an up-and-under look, and made a shy movement with her hand. Her wrist pivoted three times as the scene disappeared from the open bridge door.
"Damn." The Captain said, and took a sip of his coffee.
"Yer damn right is what." Said the Helmsman. The Captain took another sip off his mug and said,
"Port three."