Once in Soho, drunk and alone, coping with the spiteful light of an Old Compton Street off-licence, I tumbled into the nocturnal camaraderie that only penniless drunks can purchase. My fleeting companion, my soulmate for that moment, was a Scottish lad, young and reeking. I told him how I missed Amanda; he told me how he missed his home.
"My love is like a red, red rose," he said, all wistful about Burns. "That’s newly sprung in June," I said knowingly, thinking about Amanda. Then together: "My love is like the melody, that’s sweetly played in tune." We defiantly recited Rabbie Burns’s poem, entangled arms keeping us from falling. "Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt wi’ the sun." Just two more drunks serenading an indifferent world. The poem and our brotherhood ended simultaneously and we carried on alone into the night. "And I will love thee still, my dear, While the sands of life shall run."
Gatorland Alligator Farm. US 1. St. Augustine (formerly Casper’s Alligator and Ostrich Farm)
Not to be confused with Gatorland in Orlando or Alligator Farm in St. Augustine.