Step aboard, and be served from an ever-fresh menu of oysters, clams, and other sea-fare ordered before it hits the dock, along with things that make no sense until you taste them — Mexican corn, udon, kimchi, hamburgers, Korean-style chicken. Wash it down with good wine, good beer, or maybe some like Tea-juana Punch. “Oh, try this,” she said. “Oh, try this,” I said. We drank strong drinks. The sun sank, and the low Inman Park buildings glowed in the yellow light. It seemed everyone was out. A crowd inside the ship laughed loudly, and we noticed the putt-putt lighthouse. After the meal, we descended below deck past a wall screening “Jaws” to what appeared to be someone’s basement circa 1977. We were served by stewards in orange. The warm wood paneling. The tiki candles. The photos of Farrah and Leif. A DJ spun records. There was a rotary telephone on a coffee table, and I picked it up and dialed the phone number I had when I was kid. Someone answered, and for a moment I thought I was talking to my past.
