For A Piece Of Meat
After sixteen weeks three days seven hours and thirty-six minutes at sea, we were consumed by one thing and one thing only. I lay awake deep into every night fantasizing, mouth watering, about the moment when I would get mine. I knew the other boys were doing the same.
Towards the end, our superior officers gave up and called off all training; nothing broke through the haze of our daydreams. The water bumping rhythmically sang a chorus of pure desire, a primal humming intensifying the pressure.
Gripping our briefcases tightly, we scrambled off the boat before it even touched the dock, leaping across the chasm effortlessly.
We prowled in packs, eyes, ears, noses rigid and alert, exploring the air, probing for clues.
“Guys, check it out!” I hissed. A low whistle shuddered through the group. A quick pause to pinch ourselves internally.
“Just what we’ve been dying for,” moaned Francisco.
“What are we waiting for? Let’s go!” shouted Reggie.
We bolted in unison, shoving two bimbos out of the way, clawing our way through the crowd to get to the hamburger stand.