The sailor, a mess specialist, did the walk of shame at o-four-hundred. A cab ride from the seedy Oceanview apartment to the base. A mad dash down the pier, up the brow of USS Kearsarge, and past the quarterdeck watch team, who smirked when the officer of the deck granted her permission to come aboard. She slunk down to female berthing on tiptoe, relieved that the curtains on all the racks were still drawn and that no one was awake to comment or question.
