Man blinded by his intentions fails to notice reality.
The rusty ceiling fan squeaked as it turned slow the wide wicker blades while the passenger waited. He sat at the end of the bar. A bar made of planks covered in miss-match pieces of cloth a top oil drums left behind from the last war. Through a nearby window he watched the boatman work. Lighting his fifth cigarette he called out.
“What's taking him so long?”
The bartender perched on a stool only rolled his eyes his way, and then resumed doing nothing in silence. Taking a short drag, the man resumed his vigil. The wind blew hard on the tin shack. The walls creaked as rain steadily tapped on the roof like peas poured into a large pot. The man watched but did not see. His eyes saw from a far the tied boats, as they bobbed wildly to and fro restrained only by their tie lines. His eyes saw the waves of rain sweep, the waters near and far over the bay beyond. And from his seat he saw the island palms whip and bend in the storm. He watched, the boatman as he struggled back to the shack knowing it would be time to leave.
"Here he comes, finally. I can leave this place.”
The boatman had just stepped in the door as the man, with bags in hand, stood before him saying, "I'm ready. Lead the way."
The boatman stared at him and began laughing as he moved around him, took his raincoat off, stomped his feet, and took a seat. The passenger turning looked back at him.
"Why are you Laughing?"
"You a funny man? We're not going anywhere in this weather.”
The boatman began to relax and the man just stood there. "Hey, Barman set me up a whiskey,” said the Boatman.
The passenger glanced at the ceiling and added, "Make that two".
word count 300
Ironworker156 aka Sannara