Free Atomic Lobster by Tim Dorsey Page A

what’s happening,” said Coleman.
    “Okay, billions of years ago primitive nuclei began forming on the ocean floor and evolved into one of the earliest multicellular organisms in the phylum Porifera….”
    “You have to go back that far?”
    “I don’t do half-ass history.”
    “When’s the ouzo part?”
    “Not for billions of years. These creatures developed tiny pores called ostia , which filtered nutrients from the water, becoming the first sponges….”
    The religious ceremony on the other side of the bayou continued. Time passed. “…Ten thousand years ago, migratory peoples began settling along the Aegean coast….” Serge woke Coleman with a nudge. “…Frescoes appeared in Crete depicting the sponge’s role in hygiene….”
    Rachael’s half-conscious head peeked over the sill of the Comet’s back window and tried focusing on Serge and Coleman at the edge of the water.
    “…Next, the Bronze Age…”
    She reached for another Valium but passed out again first.
    The bishop bestowed blessings. The crowd brimmed with building anticipation.
    “…Non-Greeks triggered the Key West sponging boom of thenineteenth century. But sponges aren’t known for their fleetness and greedy divers soon wiped out their own harvest. Meanwhile, savvy Athenians overtook them by expertly managing the warm Gulf waters of Tarpon Springs….” Serge poked Coleman again. “…Where they remain to this day. The high school team is the Fighting Spongers.”
    “Must have dozed. Did I miss anything?”
    “Just the terrible spicule fungus of 1938.” Serge grabbed the tote bag at his feet. “Looks like they’re starting.”
    The crowd’s roar increased as the bishop approached the water’s edge, his vestments sparkling in the winter sun. Children waved small American and Greek flags. Suddenly, the bishop raised a white cross over his head, and the mob went berserk. He rotated in a semicircle, displaying the religious treasure for all to see. The cheering seemed like it would go on forever. Then, abruptly, quiet. Nobody had to tell them. The moment was here. The bishop pulled the cross back over his shoulder. The youths in the boats crouched like swimmers on starting platforms of a hundred-meter freestyle.
    One final pause for drama…and the cross was flung.
    All eyes followed the brilliant white icon, soaring higher and higher before reaching its apex, flashing briefly in the light and arcing over into the water. The boys leaped from their boats; the bayou erupted in a splashing froth to the deafening encouragement from shore.
    The 102nd Epiphany dive for the cross was under way.
    UNIVERSITY OF FLORIDA
    Melvin ran down the stairs and hugged his parents.
    They unloaded the back of the Escalade, carrying boxes past open doors of other rooms furnished with stolen milk crates and cinder-block shelves. The Davenports made the top of the stairs. Blaring music and snatches of conversation.
    “…Then you scrape the inside of the banana peel and smoke it.”
    “That’s a myth.”
    At the end of the balcony, three students were steadying a fourth, whose head hung over the rail. “You’ll feel much better if you just throw up the toxin and ease into a mellow trip.”
    Melvin stopped in front of the last unit and shifted the cardboard box he was holding for a better grip. “Here we are.”
    Martha pointed behind her. “What’s that about?”
    “Just my roommate.” Melvin pushed the ajar door open with his foot.
    Two more trips and the SUV was empty. They sat around and had a nice visit until Martha grew concerned.
    “What is it?” asked Jim.
    “He doesn’t have enough cleaning products.”
    “You brought two full boxes.”
    “We have to go to the store.”
    “All right.” They headed downstairs.
     
    Coleman stood in chest-deep water under a boat lift. He peeked out from behind the concealment of an oyster-encrusted pier, straining to see what was happening on the other side of the bayou. Some kind of confusion