Beyond the Sea

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To the civilian personnel at the Old Philadelphia Navy Yard, thank you for the great tour and explanation. Also a big shout-out to certain shadowy men and women at M.I.T. — your theories scare the hell out of me.

The large man with the brown fedora sitting at its usual jaunty angle on his head sipped his coffee and watched the passersby on Flores Street. He sat beneath a green awning with the gold-scripted name of the business emblazoned across its front—Trans American Fruit and Grain. The lanky, broad-shouldered man removed the fedora and used the brim to fan his tanned face. He decided to forgo the hot coffee on this warm September morning and simply slid the cup and saucer away from him. His sunglasses hid the dark pupils that never wavered from the onlookers whose wandering eyes strayed his way as they passed by on the sidewalk fronting the shop. His white shirt was already starting to be saturated by his sweat even at this early hour. As much as he hated the climate, he was ever grateful not to be posted to Iceland or even, God forbid, Alaska. The man was here as a punishment for disagreeing with one of the more powerful men in government service. So, the sweat he would have to suffer with silently along with his banishment. His letter of resignation was written out and sitting upon his desk, ready for the military attaché’s signature and forwarding to Washington, D.C. The man was thinking that it may be past time to serve the war in a more direct way.

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