Giant water bugs and electric lights

When electricity began to modernize the olden Florida swamp landscape, clouds of giant water bugs would flock to the few posts of light dispersed throughout the marsh. Thousands. Their heads and feeding mechanisms like a magnified mosquito. This made the locals call the big suckers "electric light bugs." Which was a little off, since the giant water bug would rather spend its days, well, in the water... swimming along and eating little fish and whatnot. So when my brother Dan rolled into town yesterday, knowing fully well that his liver would suffer, we too were drawn to the light.
It started with a burial because it was time to go and because the life my great-uncle enjoyed was long and significant. I'll never forget his wheezing-intake laugh and his gung-ho emotional ties with the New York Yankees and how it seemed like he never got out of that rocking chair he had by the window. A good life leaves no regrets.
Then I went to a Damn Magazine meeting with Melissa and helped myself to lots of cold suds and good conversations with a varied bunch of incredibly creative and artistic people.
Then our troubles began. C. Rupes and Jesse sat out the night because of certain obligations that could not be avoided... so Dan and I went on down to Corbett's and had a few rounds of deliciously cold PBR's and compared how drastically our lives had changed in the course of a year. And boy were we trying hard to just chill there and enjoy the piss-poor selection some chump had made on the juke... resisting... denying the inevitable...
So with a promise to keep it within limits of decency, we drove the block or two north on US 1 to the Stir Crazy "Every Monday Night is Cinco de Mayo" special. Dan kept saying no, and I kept ordering them for him. Plenty of nice dancers made their rounds and sweet Desireé kept her distance... maybe I was too quick to share in her line or maybe Dan and I shouldn't have chosen to sit in the dark back corner of the club. We did promise to keep it cheap and decent. We are deal chasers, the tits just help a bit, we want the drink, we want to turn slowly. We don't want to be the guys across the bar who kept making ATM runs with $5 service fees.
And then Dan started looking not-too-hot and swore he'd make liquid messes in my car if we didn't get the fuck out. Ah! Youth! So because we've known happiness, true happiness, just a few times, I leave you with some stolen poetics because we're nothing more than electric bugs for now, though next week we'll be priests.

Fair Isle at Sea

"Fair Isle at sea -- thy lovely name
soft in my ear like music came.
That sea I loved, and once or twice
I touched at isles of paradise."
-- Robert Louis Stevenson