High Noon


“Sarda” was the name painted on the side of a large white building not far from the dock. We walked to the site, always on broken or badly cracked concrete. When we had arisen that morning, I had checked the dockside from my porthole. Four huge cranes had surprised me. They were not the ordinary dock variety, but the huge monsters I was more accustomed to seeing in the harbors of Singapore or Denmark. Past the cranes, “Sarda” was visible in red letters high up on the wall of the old building. There was only one door, which was ajar as we approached.

Don pushed the door open. All four of us entered what was obviously a former warehouse. There were no windows at all. It was one huge room, laid out with many round tables and chairs. The bar consisted of stacked shipping pallets. Behind The Pallet Bar was a long mirror, cracked in a dozen places.