by Vaughan Simons
"You no longer float my boat. You just sink my battleship," she tells me, wearing her most solemn, iron-clad face. I ask her which battleship she imagines herself to be, but am unable to stop sailing forth in a futile final mission to impress her with my detailed knowledge of military seafaring. "The Sir Galahad was an explosive sight, but maybe you're the General Belgrano, and you think I fired on you in anger even though you were turning to make your escape? Or are you the Admiral Graf Spee, sending out a last distress flare before scuttling yourself to save all on board?" She doesn't answer - merely looks at me like my eyes are approaching torpedoes, before sinking beneath the briny without leaving a trace.
Vaughan Simons exists in a mostly virtual state, and maintains an expensive word habit at An Unreliable Witness and as editor of Writers' Bloc.