Free Gone Bamboo by Anthony Bourdain

see the neck on the guy? He's lucky those dogs don't lift a leg every time they see him."
    "Jealous, skinny?" joked Frances.
    "Yeah. I want floppy clown shoes for tits when I get old. Just like him."
    Marlin One returned and unlocked the front gate.
    "Stay there," he said. "They'll be right down."
    Henry heard an engine start at the head of the drive, and a moment later Tommy's white pickup appeared, Cheryl smiling in the passenger seat behind the bug-encrusted windshield. Henry motioned for them to follow, and Tommy tapped the horn in acknowledgment. Cheryl waved at Frances through the truck's open window.
    Down a steep, sharply curving hill, past some unfinished efficiency apartments where stray cattle grazed undisturbed on newly sodded lawns, was the entrance to Captain Oliver's Marina. A uniformed security guard lifted the wood barrier blocking access to the parking lot. Henry pointed out an empty space to Tommy in the truck and slipped the scooter into a narrow space between a wall and a fragrant garbage stockade.
    Cheryl, in a clingy white dress, low-cut in front, appeared happy to be out and on the loose, whereas Tommy, in his sneakers and athletic socks, looked skittish and defensive. His whole posture had changed from the beach bar. Frances immediately tried to put him at ease; she hooked an arm around his and affectionately led them all down the splintering gangway onto the marina.
    A big black dog came bounding out of nowhere, tail wagging.
    "This is Meathead," explained Frances. "He's the Dinghy Dock dog. Aren't you, Meathead?" She bent over for a second to scratch the dog behind the ears. When she stood up and resumed walking, the dog ran alongside, panting excitedly.
    She took them all the way out the crisscross of narrow planking, nearly to the dark center of the Oyster Pond. On both sides sailboats strained quietly at their lines, creaking rhythmically, masts tilting back and forth, back and forth.
    Henry produced a thick, evenly rolled joint and lit it with his battered Zippo. He passed it to Cheryl first; she took a big hit and immediately began coughing. Tears coming from the corners of her eyes but still smiling, she passed the joint to Tommy.
    "Tom, watch out." She coughed. "It's good. Really good."
    Tommy took a hit. "Yow!" he said, exhaling. "That is fucking good. Where . . . where do you get stuff like that? Down here . . . we've been smoking dirtweed."
    "We have a friend from the States who brings it now and again," said Frances.
    "What is this? Hawaiian?" asked Tommy, eagerly taking another hit.
    "They grow it hydroponically somewhere, I think," said Henry, happy with the way things were going.
    Frances sat down on an electrical junction box for the moored sailboats, and Cheryl joined her, sitting cross-legged on the weathered boards. Henry lay flat on the dock looking up at the stars, Meathead next to him.
    "Meteor shower," said Henry.
    "And the moon," added Frances. "Look at that moon."
    "We've passed out here a few times," said Henry. "After a couple of cocktails or ten."
    "It's beautiful," said Cheryl. "Tommy, isn't it beautiful?"
    "It is nice," said Tommy. "Where's the music coming from?"
    "That's the Dinghy Dock," said Frances. "We should go. It's only half price for another hour."
    The two couples walked slowly back, Cheryl thrilled to be out, Tommy getting friendlier from the pot and the music, which was getting louder and louder as they got closer to the Dinghy Dock.
    "Is that the Stooges playing? I don't believe it!" said Tommy.
    "We left all our records in New York," said Cheryl sadly.
    "That's Henry's tape, I think," said Frances, pleased.
    "Awesome," said Tommy. "Unbelievable."
    The Dinghy Dock was packed with charter crews, coke smugglers, mechanics, a drunken mob of Aussies, French soldiers, American bareboaters, and the usual yachties, all clustered around three picnic tables or spilling out from under the Dock's striped canopy to sit on the rails, the chest freezers, or the milk