Key West, Florida
I am a man of war.
What I’m doing with my life
I am a writer and former journalist. I have a nice house here, and my kids are well.
I’m pretty good at
Compressing emotion. Composing four-to-six word sentences. Fishing, hunting, and camping. Surviving plane and car crashes. Describing death in nature.
The first thing people usually notice about me
The scar on my forehead. It is a war injury. Do not ask me about it.
The six things I could never do without
The kangaroo tendon that my surgeon used to bind my broken bones after a car accident.
A true understanding of human mortality.
My unwavering valor.
Facial hair of some form.
I spend a lot of time thinking about
The current state of the Cuban government, my inevitable death, cats.
On a typical Friday night I am
With my mistress. That is, my mistress the dry martini. It’s a metaphor. . .
The most private thing I’m willing to admit
That scar I mentioned earlier. . . I got it from forcibly pulling a light fixture chain that I thought was a toilet chain. The fixture fell on my forehead, cutting me badly. It is my biggest regret in life.
I’m looking for
A muse I can look at from across a cafe. I may also caress you. I prefer older women with a nurturing instinct. I will also place higher priority on those who live near lighthouses. Their light provides me a beacon home after long nights of drinking. Also, someone who is not startled by my proposal of marriage on our third meeting.
You should message me if
You think this story is romantic.
Once an old fisherman hooked a pair of marlin. The male fish always lets the female fish feed first. When the fisherman hooked the female fish, she fought a wild, panic-stricken, despairing fight that soon exhausted her. All the time the male stayed with her, crossing the line and circling with her on the surface. After the old man gaffed her and clubbed her until her colour turned to a colour like the backing of mirrors, the male fish stayed by the side of the boat. As the old man was preparing the harpoon, the male fish jumped high into the air beside the boat to see where the female was, and then went down into the water, deep.
Would you message Ernest Hemingway?