With a a temperature in the upper fifties, the salt air called me. Across the sandy, broken parking lot as Maine winters often do, a slice of grass, another parking lot in better repair and there it was. Casco Bay. Seagulls were everywhere enjoying the thermals as a noticeable breeze provided them an easy flight.
Two grizzly looking men in their late forties were talking. The one in the green truck looked about the parking lot. His eyes never left me. The other man, also in jeans leaned into the truck on the driver's side. He also watched me.
I walked toward the marina and heard it. I could hear the engine running from the well used sedan from the late 70s. As I passed the faded blue sedan with dents abounding, it was evident that there was no one inside.
Then it occurred to me. Was this a drug dealing going on?
