A ship stewart interested in what makes creatives tick once asked us how we could possibly have that much energy. We didn't of course. We had habits like licking the last drops of tea and coffee out of our cups. Pretending nourished. Opening one door to check for possible monsters under the bed, he saw a man with woman's legs re-enacting the punches that had been thrown that started that one. The upside down midget handstanding on the man's oversized on backwards rubber boots was still spinning in his brain from a knife throwing episode only managed ondolay, ondolay. Called Little Man helped him feel better. He was bossy when he wanted to be. But the taller fisherman in front examining a swordfish scar could pull a shoulder wooden fisherman's string and honor don't put me down 'til this place stops spinning.
The steward crouched beside the midget's better ear and notated on a clipboard like Patches' smells another nurse wrote like a brewery; only speaks ondolay. Feels safely attached to a Big Fish's Friend; and in denial about getting sober.
So when a longtime land nurse in one of those capes needed to ask me a serious question in the 1990's, personally, I was surprised when she asked, "Do I look like a Dentist?"
"Not sure exactly m'am."
"Why do you ask of us?" A field commander needed to know.
She pulled cigarettes from her pack. Her tallness can be intimadating so she has a personal quirk of crouching then kicking her pant legs out in front of poor vision without knocking over children and/or torsos with stumps.
We need to determine why wounded and injured keep being found with mouthfuls of teeth.
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