Thanks Jerry (page 2)

Piss-pouring rain made us scatter to the cars.  Some took the ramp up from the beach.  Others jumped the storm wall.  I took that latter route, but left my beer to get watered down.

We had all gone to Richard's Wine & Spirits after dinner to get some drinks.  You know the place right on the corner of the Old 44, a jump after the lights, and a stone's throw away from the waterfront?  It wasn't your typical after dinner drinks soiree.  None of us were dressed up in any suit and tie.  The girls didn't have on any cocktail dresses.  But we were a bit more refined than your typical Saturday night motley crew. Emphasis on a bit.

Earlier we had come to the conclusion that bar hopping was out of the picture.  Everywhere was too packed.  And Cabby Shack was charging a measly  $5 cover, but we were all too cheap to pay up.  We figured we were giving the house a free drink on us if we paid.  Deliberation on the famous "What do we do now" scenario took its normal slow route.  Ever since we were all teenager's hanging out at Eddie's house it had been that way.  Why would normalcy suddenly change now?

The change in normal is what got us here in the first place, though.  Over the years it's been a slow viscous moving change.  We've all gone our separate ways.  Maybe only 100 miles out from each other at any one point except when I decided to jump the Pond. And, for the most part, we've been a good group of friends to one another.  We do share that unique bond of lifelong friends and we will always share it.  

But no matter the bond we hold, the combination of Time's progression and our, quote, "growing up" changes what used to be normal.

I dashed for my car as the rain drops became bucket-fulls.  There was no escaping how soaked I'd become in only a few seconds.  At least I wasn't alone.  We added to the thumping rains with our huffing and puffing after the dash.  And what was worse, we didn't even end up with the beer in our car.  One of the others must have grabbed it.  Eddie Rand even braved the flailing rains to go in search of the drinks.  He came back empty handed besides the trash we left on the beach in light of the sudden deluge.

The infamous deliberations were struck up again.  This time in a more Three Stooges manner with three drivers and three cars trying to figure out how to shimmy next to one another so we could talk with our windows down.  

Sandy's Beach Club was right there.  That would be our next stop.  Problem was, this lonely little shack actually hired security  to sit there, toke up, and do a little fishing whilst on the job.

Problem easily averted.

While half of us walked up acting like we really didn't care about security, the other half of us squeamishly fell in line behind them wondering if this so-called guard actually had some authority.  He didn't. We offered him a beer and like throwing a slab of meat to a guard dog, he was content and made distracted for a little while.

Finally, under cover we could sit in the open air marquee and watch as the outskirts of Hurricane Bill's power still thrashed Plymouth Beach.  And for the rest of the night I remained silent.  I wouldn't have been able to tell you why I fell so quiet, but the moment I stepped in my car to drive home I knew why...

(To be continued...)