The crew of the Angel Flame received orders to head out. The next morning, after quarters, they set the maneuvering watch and cast off. I lifted the bow line from the cleat on the pier and dropped it into the green polluted harbor waters. I watched the iridescent sheen play on the surface for awhile then waved to the line-handlers topside.
“Adios,” I shouted.
The OD shouted something unintelligible in return, and everyone topside on the boat turned around, dropped their trousers and mooned me. Bubbleheads don’t see the sun very often so the glare off all that pale skin was blinding. I laughed and hoisted my seabag to my shoulder. They were going to have to bore holes in the ocean without me from now on. I was done. I had a plane to catch in Manila – a plane home.