?Oh shit,? said Gregg to no one in particular and headed off to find himself a beer by way of consolation.+++++ +++++ +++++A week later, he was still feeling glum about the evening and its outcome – or lack of it. He was down near the harbour when he saw Sam, laughing and chatting with a bunch of friends. He caught her scowl as she noticed him. That, and the giggles from her friends, was sufficient to deter him from crossing the street in any hope of a reconciliation. As much to avoid the group as anything else, he stepped into the small junk shop down near the lighthouse. He’d picked up a few props there in the past. He’d even found a very dog-eared 1857, first edition of ?The Magician’s Own Book? even though he hadn’t been able to find the $100 they’d wanted for it. The shop’s owner nodded as Gregg peered into the dark piles of accumulated pottery, odd bits of furniture, old clothes and the occasional picture frame. Wedged under a small table was a round, pot bellied, ragged,. There was a guy behind the counter, a woman at the counter of the Mexican food place and a man working in the kitchen area, and couple of patrons walking around the few short aisles. I figured while I was there I might as well get in a trip to the restroom as well, so I searched the area and saw a restroom sign in the back corner. I made a beeline for the bathroom which was down a narrow hallway and sign on the door that said “Restroom” in handwritten black marker.Without really thinking much of it, I opened the door and was surprised and embarrassed to find someone in there already. My surprise quickly turned into shock as my brain registered the occupant as a tall, muscular black man standing at the single toilet in the bathroom. He looked like an NFL linebacker standing there. He was wearing a button down red plaid shirt with the sleeves cut off, showing off his big shoulders and tattooed arms, a pair of jeans and construction boots. In his hand he held a massive, heavy, uncut,.
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