Winter Flounder swam a-next Romero’s, Alexander Hamilton.
“Rose, your turn,” he jocularly commanded. “Keep her straight; nothing over 10 knots.”
Rose took Alexander Hamilton’s helm, grinning.
Romero’s craft sped up from its current five knots, toward eight knots.
“This is fun,” Rose laughed, her hands upon Alexander Hamilton’s wheel, it turning.
Waves crashed upon Hamilton’s sides.
That distinct water hitting wood wharf sound followed.
All relaxed into their seats.
“This is fun,” Rose bantered, joy within her voice. No roads. My hittin’ anythin’ is hard.”
“Have fun but be careful,” Juliet warned.

Romero’s Alexander Hamilton slid past Broad Channel.
Romero pointed toward Broad Channel Island.
Mute Swan, trumpeter swan, wood ducks, various turtles, joined varied frogs, they all sunned themselves upon Broad Channel Island.
Alexander skimmed along at 4 knots, everyone aboard stretched out enjoying themselves.
That is except Rose who sat, piloting Alexander Hamilton. Her face gave her thoughts away.
She suffered disorientation. She sat numbed from her life-changing, her life-changing rate dizzying.
Lightheaded, she considered how she awoke, homeless, sleeping upon red clay ground. Now she piloted Romero’s yacht, sleeping this coming night, she knew not where she might lay, she pretending not a-care.
Fuck! Who are these people? Rose contemplated. Now I know what Saint Peter meant when he denied knowing Jesus. He knew his great preacher ‘n’ healer, but he knew him as Messiah, that one a comin’ for kickin’ out those nasty Romans.
Thought I knew Romero, some bum like myself. Love that guy. This Guy?
Rich beyond my wildest imagination? He owns helicopters, private Jets, yachts? Next thin’ yah know I’ll find he drives some fancy car, maybe even own some limo? Who are these people? What did I get myself into? Who are these people demanding I shave my legs?

Anxiety came over her. What happens now, should he suddenly change his mind, she wondered. Her mind flickered.