Sitting here in Austin, TX on a sweltering day in May, it's hard to believe that a couple of evenings ago I was wandering, sweater clad, around the harbor in Annapolis, MD. Dozens of spotless white Naval uniforms wander the streets filled with aspiring young officers whose ink on their high school diploma isn't even dry yet. Here is a young man showing his parents around and trying to convince his mother that he's never been in that bar. Dad's walking a couple of steps behind and looks like he singlehandedly deprived a local merchant of his entire stock of Navy gear. There's a group of five sharing a bench, some exaggerated tales, and cheap cigars. Over to the right is a black lady, mid 40's, alone with her headphones, facing the water, dancing a waltz with an imaginary partner. (Looks like he's leading) I wonder for a moment at what point in my life did I trade my imagination in for inhibition. She apparently passed on that offer. The narrow streets invite me to wander down an alley toward the harmonious hum escaping from the doorway of the "Treaty of Paris" pub. Inside I find a packed house, steins and mugs held high, and a chorus of "What do ya do with a drunken sailor" is in full swing. (Put a lobster in his britches, way hay up he rises, earl-ey in the mornin..) Everyone knows the words. I get no farther than the doorway. They don't seem to notice one more body so I stay for the rest of the song. It's hard not to stand there, leaning against the century old doorframe, grinning like a landlubber. The night is now growing cold, so I head back to the car. On the way I pass a man loading a couple of grocery bags into a boat the size of a bathtub. The dark water looks unforgiving and with some sense of concern I say, "Need some help?" He says no. He's just heading home. Where's home, I ask. He point to the center of the harbor where a good number of sailboats are anchored randomly and roughly 20 yards from each other in any direction. Each one has a small boat attached to it. I realize that this is a small city on the sea. I watch him putter out into the harbor and navigate his way through the maze of masts. He disappears in the dark and only then do I realize that I'm humming outloud. The young sailor with his lass on the bench behind me is too enamored with his prize to notice that I found my imagination again.