10.1.98
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Note: It was late when I wrote this, hence the weird babbling.
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Two o'clock in the morning in a seedy little coffeeshop, in a grungy little hotel, in a dinky little rathole of a town. Hell of a place to be hearing his favorite version of 'Black Magic'. Closing his eyes, he sang along, unashamedly and quite melodically, now that you mention it.

"...For you're the lover that I have waited for, the mate that fate had me created for..."

The man was grinning by the time the song was over, warmed through by something a little stronger than the coffee in the brown stoneware mug he cradled in one hand, feeling much closer to sleep than he had when he first came down here. Straightening, he picks up his pen and considers the notebook before him, taking in one of his favorite doodles... His name, tangled up with that of his beloved's, in the slightly messy penmanship that marked the younger man's writing. Smiling to himself, Blackwater flips ahead to the last page of writing, which read like a slightly demented shopping list.

Ten pounds salt, fifteen yards cotton duck (90 in. wide), three drams A'cail., mitre box. Snickering to himself, he appends 'chicken wings', turns the page, and stares rather absently at the lined paper. Unconnected, wandering thoughts slink through his grey matter, here and there sparking strange connections. He allows the ideas to flow down his arm and drip from his pen, watching almost disinterestedly as his hand moves across the page...

I watch you sleeping among the candy-floss and flax, my own Angel...

Tomorrow we'll be in Kerth. There's a day in our schedule marked 'BEACH' in big red letters.

Buy 70 SPF sunblock, ninny. Okay.

There's something slightly disturbing about the people that haunt late-night restaurants... They all have the same desperate, saddened air of people that need a respite from life and its attendant miseries... I wonder, did I ever look like them, with their sullen mouths and shadowed eyes? Did I look like that when I first walked in?

He was only a kid... Still a kid, really,

Never kiss a man with a negative cash flow.

The greater the risk, the greater the reward. A sensible, profit-oriented motto... Though I've become decidedly -less- profit-oriented, these days.

-Look into investment opportunities- Particularly ones of a NON-athletic nature.

*Note to self: find another copy of Cocktails For Two ASAP

Migration of the Trader: yearly shifts in... inventory as indicated by location.

Time for bed, Beej, you've been down here long enough.

I guess so... Especially since I'm now writing -commands- to myself. This is sad.

Shutting the notebook firmly, he sticks it and the pen back into his jacket pocket, fishes a healthy tip from another and tucks the money under his mug, and stands.