Neon signs reading “Ticate” and “Corona” hung above the entrance to a run down wooden shack. Spanish music mixed with the sound of clanking pool balls leaked through the front door. The bar was crowded but fatigued and it smelt like stale beer and fresh popcorn. My eyes shifted to an empty bar stool that stood between two hunched over bodies.  As I sat on the stool the bartender hurried in my direction while flipping a white rag over her shoulder.

          “Ola," she said, with a smile that looked like she bought it from a cheerleader.

          “Ola,” I said back, hoping that she wouldn't card me. "Um, let's see...what's in a              margarita?"

Her smile quickly vanished while she tended to a blender.

    A Mexican guy sitting next to me looked in my direction and then back at his beer.  A young couple were grinding each other next to a pool table that was occupied by burly biker types. One of the men had a snake tattoo on his neck and he was watching my every move.  I let him win the face-off as the bartender returned with a glass of red slush that reminded me of Kim's fancy drink at J&M's. After removing a tiny purple umbrella from the glass, I took a sip, leaned back and surveyed the bar.  

    Chief Oneil was sitting in a dark corner with a young mexican girl on his lap.  As they kissed and flirted I thought about his wife and daughter waving goodbye to him from the pier.  He looked at me and I quickly returned to my margarita.  

            "¿Eso es bueno?," asked the bartender.

            "Um," I replied, not knowing at all what she said, "I'm sorry to complain, but                  I think this glass is dirty. It has a little salt on the rim here."

     Her blank gaze challenged mine before she finally walked away. I watched her butt dance left to right through a white flowing mini-dress while she bent down to press a button. The Spanish music got louder and as I wiped the salt off of the glass I wondered what would happen if I just stayed here; if I didn’t go back to the ship.