Eventually though I had to try and have some sort of life, even if it was without her. That's how I ended up as a troll.Yes, a troll. You know the kin.... Lives under a bridge. Grumpy. Doesn't want company. A long time ago, I read a series of essays called Magic Harbor1, by a fellow named Don Berry. In one of the essays, he described himself as a troll. I find myself in a very similar physical and emotional situation. I live on my boat, not under a bridge - that doesn't work well with a real mast. I told him there is no need to cover up and that I am tired enough to go to sleep right away. He followed me to the room to make sure that I don’t need anything. He was holding a candle in his hand while looking for a bed-sheet and my eyes suddenly fell on his crotch. He was wearing shorts and I could clearly see a big bulge there. I called out his name and said, “Hey! brother, what the hell is that?” pointed towards his crotch with my eyes. He said,“What? My shorts?”Me: “No. The thing that is. More

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