Never say never, those cold melancholy words make any person’s heart raunchy with fear and dissolve with a paradox. I have seen the effects of those eerie, petrifying words.
As the light falls upon the quivering bay, I see a small, rust-coated boat approach the harbor. It is five o’clock in the mourn and I see a man, no older than twenty disembark the ship and chants a common “good-bye!” to the captain as he approaches my inn.
I am sitting behind a cracked-oak desk circa 1720, waiting for this man that I was told was coming. The wicked, icy-cold winter air burst through this antique balsam door and through the white fog appears the sailor. Adorned in white naval uniforms, I can tell that he has just ended his last campaign in Dublin, Ireland.
He has a certain air to his swag, swishing from side to side in a dance of quick footsteps as he approaches my desk. He has a smile cracking on his face; he is glad that the captain was right about the inn. The young man stands before me and says “Hello miss, I am Solomon O’Daily, sorry to keep you waiting.” I replied in a nonchalant tone “So you are the sailor from Dublin I’ve been hearing about, welcome to London! We have some single rooms left, will that suffice?” “But of course, thank you for that warm welcome, I needed that, those Navy vessels get quite cold you know?” He said. “Yes, here in the queen’s country it does get a bite, more than Ireland from what I understand, although from what I’ve heard Irelands’ countryside is quite fairer than London.” “Well, I have not had the opportunity to take time to look around but when I do I’ll give you the comparison.”