want to live there.”
Cinch raises his eyebrows. “What if someone were to work there?”
I lower my voice to a whisper. “A dealer?”
“Drugs cost money. I’ve got the connection. Everyone who wants to play has to pay his share. I risk bringing it here and holding onto it, so I deserve to pay nothing and to make some money on the side.”
“What if you get caught?” I say, wondering if the “you” really means “we,” since I’ll be living with him.
“I only deal with people I trust. I sold spring break trips in college to pay for my trip. Did that make me a travel agent?”
Later, on the sidewalk in front of the Round House, a line of people winds through a portable tape maze.
Cinch says, “I love this time of evening. Everything is clean, and the customers haven’t gotten their second wind yet. When we charge cover, people first enter through the maze, show their ID, and pay cover to get a wristband. After that, they can enter through any entrance or exit. All you have to do is direct them to the side to get a wristband and keep the entranceway on the porch clear.” Cinch steps through the entrance and leads a man in his fifties onto the porch, fastening a band around his wrist. “Good evening, Senator. How many in your party tonight?”
“Senator, hah!” the man says. “With what I’ve done on this island, my political career was over before it started. Four should cover me for the night.”
Cinch says, “Is that it? Must be a slow night on the docks.”
The man slides twenty dollars in Cinch’s pocket. “Won’t be slow tomorrow. Stop by my boat for a beer.”
Cinch will be my entertainment for the evening. He’s the politician here—a lot of handshaking and smiling. This is his constituency.
Finished for the day, Caldwell strolls through the park toward the Round House. The mandolin hangs from one shoulder, his backpack from the other. He crosses the street and stops on the sidewalk, peering inside at the crowd. His face glows from being in the sun all day.
I ask, “How were the tips today?”
He shakes the jar. “Sixty-four dollars and thirteen cents. Pretty good for this early in the season.”
A man like Caldwell can live for a while on sixty-two dollars. Cinch told me that because of Caldwell’s long tenure and year-round presence, beers come pretty cheap and no one ever expects a tip. It’s not out of pity; everyone just appreciates havinghim around. With only a few hundred year-round residents, what other choice is there but to take care of each other?
I hold out a wristband. “You coming in?”
He removes his black baseball hat and tucks his thin, silver strands behind his ears. “Nope. You’re Shep, aren’t you?”
“Have we met?”
“Nope, just heard and seen you around. Name’s Caldwell.”
He is tranquil when he speaks, making the fugitive stories difficult to believe. I say, “Oh yeah, Cinch told me you used to play in bands or something.”
He smiles. “That’s one of the stories.”
Regardless of what his words actually are, everything he says feels like he’s patting me on the back, saying,
It’s okay, I understand
. His past doesn’t matter to me. I marvel at the free man standing before me.
He stares into the Round House again then shakes his head. “Think I’ll go down the street. Stay out of trouble, Shep.”
The people flow in and out like the tide. When Whiplash starts a set, they wash in, and when the band takes a break, they retreat onto the porch and into the park for fresh air. During one of the intermissions, a pair of hands reach from behind me, shielding my eyes. Their smooth texture and jasmine fragrance divulge their owner’s identity.
I say, “If you’d like to come in, the cover is three dollars. Right around to your left, miss.”
Cinch emerges from inside and ends my game by fastening a band around Astrid’s wrist. She says, “At least one of you is a gentleman. What’s up for tonight?”
“Let’s drink
Cinch raises his eyebrows. “What if someone were to work there?”
I lower my voice to a whisper. “A dealer?”
“Drugs cost money. I’ve got the connection. Everyone who wants to play has to pay his share. I risk bringing it here and holding onto it, so I deserve to pay nothing and to make some money on the side.”
“What if you get caught?” I say, wondering if the “you” really means “we,” since I’ll be living with him.
“I only deal with people I trust. I sold spring break trips in college to pay for my trip. Did that make me a travel agent?”
Later, on the sidewalk in front of the Round House, a line of people winds through a portable tape maze.
Cinch says, “I love this time of evening. Everything is clean, and the customers haven’t gotten their second wind yet. When we charge cover, people first enter through the maze, show their ID, and pay cover to get a wristband. After that, they can enter through any entrance or exit. All you have to do is direct them to the side to get a wristband and keep the entranceway on the porch clear.” Cinch steps through the entrance and leads a man in his fifties onto the porch, fastening a band around his wrist. “Good evening, Senator. How many in your party tonight?”
“Senator, hah!” the man says. “With what I’ve done on this island, my political career was over before it started. Four should cover me for the night.”
Cinch says, “Is that it? Must be a slow night on the docks.”
The man slides twenty dollars in Cinch’s pocket. “Won’t be slow tomorrow. Stop by my boat for a beer.”
Cinch will be my entertainment for the evening. He’s the politician here—a lot of handshaking and smiling. This is his constituency.
Finished for the day, Caldwell strolls through the park toward the Round House. The mandolin hangs from one shoulder, his backpack from the other. He crosses the street and stops on the sidewalk, peering inside at the crowd. His face glows from being in the sun all day.
I ask, “How were the tips today?”
He shakes the jar. “Sixty-four dollars and thirteen cents. Pretty good for this early in the season.”
A man like Caldwell can live for a while on sixty-two dollars. Cinch told me that because of Caldwell’s long tenure and year-round presence, beers come pretty cheap and no one ever expects a tip. It’s not out of pity; everyone just appreciates havinghim around. With only a few hundred year-round residents, what other choice is there but to take care of each other?
I hold out a wristband. “You coming in?”
He removes his black baseball hat and tucks his thin, silver strands behind his ears. “Nope. You’re Shep, aren’t you?”
“Have we met?”
“Nope, just heard and seen you around. Name’s Caldwell.”
He is tranquil when he speaks, making the fugitive stories difficult to believe. I say, “Oh yeah, Cinch told me you used to play in bands or something.”
He smiles. “That’s one of the stories.”
Regardless of what his words actually are, everything he says feels like he’s patting me on the back, saying,
It’s okay, I understand
. His past doesn’t matter to me. I marvel at the free man standing before me.
He stares into the Round House again then shakes his head. “Think I’ll go down the street. Stay out of trouble, Shep.”
The people flow in and out like the tide. When Whiplash starts a set, they wash in, and when the band takes a break, they retreat onto the porch and into the park for fresh air. During one of the intermissions, a pair of hands reach from behind me, shielding my eyes. Their smooth texture and jasmine fragrance divulge their owner’s identity.
I say, “If you’d like to come in, the cover is three dollars. Right around to your left, miss.”
Cinch emerges from inside and ends my game by fastening a band around Astrid’s wrist. She says, “At least one of you is a gentleman. What’s up for tonight?”
“Let’s drink
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