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There's a stranger sitting in my usual stool at the Lion's Head. I haven't seen him before, but I recognize the shirt he wears: a red t-shirt with an imprinted orange life vest on it and a monogram bearing the word 'Alvarez'. I order another San Mig. Having been claimed by this delectable elixir, I find it difficult to order anything but. "I've seen those shirts everywhere. What's it mean?" He munches on a handful of oriental crackers and nurses a draught Heineken. "Our whole family came. So ...

White light spills through the portholes on the heavy steel double doors, casting two perfect circles on the floor before us. Danny had to smuggle me down there, five decks below the Lion's Head, taking me through dark halls and steep stairwells. "Too many cameras", he had said gesturing to the little red lights in the darkness as we pass two in a darkened corridor. Danny new these paths well, having spent eighteen years on the same ship you get know all its nooks and crannies. He knew every ...

Back on the ship after a solo ride on the tender and a quick shower in the stall that has knobs and levers and buttons that are impossible to figure out, turn this way to get hot water but only a split second, I head down to my favorite pub and open my daily tab with a San Mig. Damn this beer is fucking addicting. Friends of Bill W might be getting a new member today. The gears start grinding in this twisted brain, a light bulb flashes its brilliance over head. Idea! I have got to find my bro...

It's been a long day, but at least the Lion's Head is always here for me. "You seal the deal yet, Ricky?" I ask, taking my stool at the bend in the bar. Danny smiles whimsically as we both wait for Ricky's answer. "I take it that's a no then?" "Yup. I told you she was a tease." He shakes his head then cracks a forced smile. "San Mig me Danny. So, who is she? Is she a crew member?" "Yeah. Her name is Ana. Tiny little thing." "Where does she work. May be I've seen her." "I doubt it. She's part ...

Singled out against the backdrop of Plexiglas and a pristine oceanic sunset, I made my way across the deck with a slight natural sway and White Russian in hand. The night was young, the trip even younger. Had I known what I was setting sail for, I could have prepared better for the excursion. For now, though, the simple mixer would have to suffice. The deck was empty for the most part, the majority of the pleasure seekers having opted for dinner as the sun continued to fall further beneath th...