Late into the summer evening the steel bands were still in full song. You could hear them even above the hubble-bubble of Frank's patrons. Anyway, the doors and windows were open. It was steaming, man.
Our eyes met across the tables. Guys came to Frank's Bar to find other guys and hopefully get laid. He was a lager drinker, a good sign. I was on iced cider, the latest craze. He was coloured, probably Caribbean. This part of London had its share, especially on carnival day.
At first Chet thought the older man staring at him from across the bar at the top of the cruise ship was Jamaican. The man engaged his attention because he had the most compelling light-gray eyes, which went really well with his silver-gray hair and the black suit with black silky shirt and black tie with a hash pattern of silver strands. But the thought that the man was black was partially because the man had been in the shadows. When he came over and sat next to Chet, the college student could
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