There I was lurking in my lair (the porch of Starbucks in Doylestown) and he walked right in.
With a buddy with him. I was sitting with a few Starbucks buddies of mine, Crossword John, the Mayor of Doylestown, and the Reverend Bill. The Mayor, who is heavily invested in letting people know how smart he was, tried to goad them into an argument about Iraq. But My Marine would have none of it. He replied, with that winning smile of his, that his job was to make sure that the Mayor and everybody else is free to feel and say whatever they want about Iraq. And summed up by saying, "It's a great country."
My Marine and his buddy seemlessly joined Doylestown Café Society, and we were all off to the races. Blah blah blah blah blah. My Marine's buddy grew up in Missouri. I recounted to him how I almost died canoeing on the Huzzah River in Southern Missouri, down in the Ozarks. My Marine, beguilingly, plied me with flattery: "Sounds like you've seen a lot of the world." And so, of course, there I was waxing rhapsodic about Moscow.
Also got some info about My Marine. Like his name and rank, and where he grew up (on a dairy farm in Upstate New York), and that he's 25 years old, married, and has a wife and three kids.
You were maybe hoping for a torrid affair?
But I can still enjoy jerking off thinking about how good My Marine would look subdued by handcuffs.
In fact, I'm recalling a short story by Dashiell Hammett I read, featuring the Continental Op. The setting is a small, corrupt town in the west, and all the characters are all cowboys. At one point, the Continental Op has two of the bad guys. He describes, in that inimitable prose, how he ties them, back to back, sitting on the ground.
I have no idea why that made such an impression on me, but damn, did it make an impression on me.
At some point in my life, I sure wouldn't mind tying up two cowboys, back to back, on the ground.
Or two marines.