chaosorc

That's gotta be the worst place to get bit

The two men nodded

The back is pretty bad, craning an arm

It's the crack, a deep voice behind them

The two looked over their shoulders, wives also turned

A large man in a plaid shirt and a hat that said “fish fear me” staring at the swamp as though waiting for a show to begin, he leaned forward a bit and said in a quieter tone, butt crack worse an back

The women smiled nervously, the two men grinned

Yeah but how you stop it?

Each man stank, their ladies just a little less. On the left, the natural man with eucalyptus and lemon choking the area. The other was a faint smell of DEET. At their wrists dangled colorful plastic mosquito repellant bracelets.

What about the balls?

That's a tick.

The four laughed, the interloper still staring off clutching his beer.

Threatened by massive gray clouds that had come off the ocean in a hurry, just as soon as they sat down. The deck was bone dry, edge of the foot coming off a flip flop confirmed. The table greasy and bare. Condiments and napkins brought when they were served on account of the wind.

Seated they could see one way out into the swamp that fed the sound, destination of the boats that lined the marina the other. Lots of white and a few sunbeat sails but otherwise a dark morass and a driftwood dock.

The insect conversation started at the car. One couple arrived first, reviewed the itinerary, then, welp I guess it's time. She nodded and opened her door, foot nearly on an ant hill.

They waited closer to the door and it was non stop, hope you don't get bit.

I hope so, too but I think I got em.

I don't see any.

A few awkward folks coming in, dodging a bent knee or visor crowned head as they bent and inspected one another. Howdy. A smile, scuse me.

Second couple appeared at the entryway.

Carter! Jake! Hi Mel. Hello Shan. Hugs and fist bumps all around.

Sheepish waves from Carter and Shan, partners greeting in between.

The conversation resumed on the docks, the inducer of ichtyophobia nursed his beer, still staring inland.

I almost forgot the parrot, a man nearby in an Aloha shirt, black with blasts of argyroxiphium sandwicense here and there, otherwise all white: hat, canvas loafers no socks, shorts exposing pale calves and long straight dark hairs. Set his drink down and pulled back the rubberized canvas sheath exposing Captain Flint. Yellow belly, blue arms, wicked black beak and claws. Pale eye glaring, tough to see in his black and white wrinkled face.

Good morning, Captain!

Wakey wakey, shaking a half full rum runner, clinking and hissing.

The parrot looked pissed but none of the tourists could tell.

Locals quietly discussed the nautical winds, their destination. A pal who paid for engine work at a new place and how that went down.

Jake and Carter were talking about suntan lotion when they heard a crack. The third man had set his beer hard, the tables nearby hushed to see what was the matter.

They're leavin

The group followed his eyes and he was right, a couple alligators were scurrying away into the swamp parting broomsedge and bugleweed.

Guy at the other table with a light beer, anyway. Folks went back to their talk but the man kept watching as the brack began to bubble.