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Isaiah Jones versus the Sea (A 21st Century Odyssey): Wade in the Water

‘Wade in the Water’

“Man went down to the river

Man went down to the river, Lord

Man went down to the river

Went down there for to pray

Man went down to the river

Man went down to the river, Lord

Man went down to the river

To wash his sins all away

Washed all day, washed all night

Washed till his hands were sore

Washed all day, washed all night

Till he couldn’t wash a-no more.”

-Ella Jenkins

Seven years,” Aeon said as she stood on the docks of Port Galveston, the salt air gently blowing her afro as she waited with her best friend and lover, Penelope Stockard Bedowitz, their 2-year-old 145 pound midnCane Corso, Penny, named Mau Mau, waiting patiently at her feet. They watched the SS Exodus approach with the gathering crowd as more people began to recognize the now-iconic prototype titanium hull carbon-sailed sloop.

Aeon Gabriella Zavala the 5 feet 5 inches tall, daughter of a Pinoy father and Dominican mothers skin glistened a deep dark bronze patina in the afternoon sun; her body a voluptuously built temple of ecstasy: muscular thighs thick as her Mississippi accent, her mother and grandmothers narrow waist, wide hips, large breast firm ripe high as the sun; luscious full lips, a wide easy smile, huge brown eyes with long naturally curly eyelashes, and a beautiful black woman’s legendary shapely firm posterior. In her body’s curves, Isaiah saw the earth’s endless horizons, the heavens, and the seas—visions of eternity. As emperor, duty demanded he have 10 wives, all African queens, but he loved only one woman.

Today, she is dressed in her nautical whites, as is their family’s tradition on the first and last day of sailing, adorned in bright white shorts with an ivory and azure striped halter top. She wears a pair of crimson-colored cat-eye glasses and is as beautiful as she is intelligent. She is nervous because her childhood best friend, now her fiancée, is returning after 7 years, the emperor Jones.

Today, Aeon is wearing the 6.4-carat, 1.08 million dollar Tiffany diamond engagement ring he sent to her 7 years ago. Normally, she leaves in the vault at the Ghanaian/AUA/African United Alliance embassy for safekeeping. This would be his first time seeing her wearing it. She stood watching the carbon black, gilded-edged sails billow as the SS Exodus black titanium hull glided through the port of Galveston towards the pier where she and Penelope waited with Mau Mau, at the head of the growing crowd of people quickly gathering as word of the young captain’s arrival spread amongst the docks workers.

Aeon looked on, amazed at the aesthetic beauty of the Exodus. “Seven years,” she repeated to Penny as they watched the now-famous ship approach the Port of Galveston pier.

“Magnificent, isn’t it?” Penelope remarked nonchalantly, now sitting comfortably on their luggage as she casually puffs on her e-stick. “Even after all these years, the sight of her never fails to inspire… awe.” She smiled demurely at Aeon as she spoke.

The 6-foot-tall, slender white girl, dressed in full punk rock regalia wearing her natural blonde hair in Harlequin neon pink and violet pigtails, grinned, exhaling a plume of mango, melon, and pineapple-scented vapor. The local news media hadn’t gotten word yet that Isaiah Jones was back in Texas, so for now, there were only a few local gawkers and dockworkers watching the ship. Aeon and Penny were meeting Isaiah here; their itinerary a 2-month sailing journey from Galveston, Texas, to Marina Del Rey, California, aboard the SS Exodus, Isaiah’s prototype Monarch Ti-44 titanium-hulled, solent-rigged sloop.

After Isaiah sailed the Exodus to Ghana from Galveston solo seven years ago when he was only 16 years old, he then circled the globe three times alone over the last seven years. For the first two trips, he used the Suez and Panama Canals; on the last one, he battled the brutal bow-breaking waves of Cape Horn.

Next, he and Aeon, along with Penny, planned to sail the Exodus to California to have the sloop’s first major haul-out and refit done in the seven years he’s lived aboard her. All of the routine maintenance on the ship he has done over the last seven years, while he lived on anchor, had never taken him more than a month to complete. This time was different; they were taking the Exodus to a professional racing team’s warehouse for a complete haul-out and refit. Even all the plumbing, electrical wiring, and the ship’s aging computers will all be replaced.

“I like the beard,” Penny remarks casually as the ship draws nearer. Since Isaiah last saw Aeon, she has graduated college and now holds a doctorate in marine biology; they plan on sailing to California together. This being the first time he has brought crew onboard. Aeon never told him that she had gotten pregnant with his child or about the abortion. The only person she told was their mutual friend and now her girlfriend, Penelope Stockard Bedowitz, Penny had been her rock during that time, driving her out of Texas and never leaving her side. She is now also Isaiah’s lawyer and will accompany them on their journey to Marina Del Rey along with Aeon’s dog, the two-year-old chocolate lab Penelope, named Mau Mau.

Isaiah never talked about what he had done during the 2 civil wars within the AUA. The live-streamed trials of the men he and Omega Squadron executed publicly for treason, after the war, he simply returned to sailing, first around the African continent, then around the world. Everywhere he docked, the notoriously reclusive introvert would chat easily with the local fishermen as he repaired a propeller fouled with plastic trash. The seaside store clerks when he purchased provisions. The shipyard mechanics as he worked on the Exodus hybrid engines in docks and harbors on sparsely populated islands from the Pitcairn Islands to the Faroe Islands.

Never letting anyone know where he would go next, if someone called the local news while he was there, he was never rude when a local reporter showed up with a mouth full of exhausting questions. “If you want to talk, you’re welcome to come by for dinner after you get off work,” was the high-functioning autistic mathematician’s standard answer.

There had only been one interview that was six years ago, after the two back-to-back civil wars in Africa, a reporter in Brighton showed up for dinner—no cameraman or gaffer, or sound guy, just dinner with some local kids on his sailboat. Isaiah let him use his iPhone to video the evening. He was moored in the port in Brighton to pick up a stabilizing brace for one of the ship’s alternators that broke; contrary to popular belief, the entire ship is not made of marine-grade titanium—most of that is in the hull and deck.

He sipped his Bigelow’s Constant Comment Tea/Earl Grey as they talked. For dinner, his guest Jazmine prepared a gourmet cod dinner with a tossed Caesar salad. He didn’t drink that evening but offered boxed Pinot Grigio to his 3 guests, and at the end of the evening, he and the reporter shook hands before he nervously left the ship and went on his way.

The gulf breeze tussling Aeon’s afro as she inhaled the salt air at the docks, as they waited, watching the Exodus approach, she knew she was ready for whatever came their way.

As the SS Exodus neared the dock in Port Galveston, Aeon moved to secure the lines. People on the docks began to recognize her from those old videos she made for his GoFundMe; they were fans eager to assist, but one look from Aeon and they could see she was more than capable of taking care of it herself. With a single fierce glance, she stopped their advance toward her as if they all had run into an invisible wall at the same time. Bowline, Cleat hitch, or Velcro strap, she was in control, determined to prove that she could hold her own.

The world had changed since Isaiah’s first voyage to Africa. Accra Bay was now Port Garvey, a symbol of progress and transformation. The great migration had begun, a paradigm shift in the making. In thirty years, a city planned and constructed using AI would be home to over 40 million expatriates.

His adventures had inspired a new generation, and a growing flotilla of sailboats sat anchored off the west coast of Ghana, waiting for ‘right of return’ paperwork had sprung up around Accra Bay, now known as Port Garvey, Capitol City State of the AUA.

Aeon hadn’t initially planned to join Isaiah on his voyage, but the politics of the last seven years had changed her mind. America had gone full-retard in 2024, re-electing the orange Nazi to the highest office in the land. Now that she had finished school, she had no reason to linger in the States. She had carried the secret of her abortion, the pain, and guilt—it weighed on her for too long, she had been drunk or high for most of the last 7 years pushing away the spectral guilt, she needed to move on, she needed this time to see where things were with her and Izzy she more than anyone else needed this new journey.

“Ahh, magnificent, isn’t it?” Penelope said with a grin. “The sight of her never fails to inspire… awe.” She says sarcastically as she exhales a plume of mango and pineapple-scented e-stick smoke. “This cult of his…” “It’s not his cult, Pen!” Aeon retorted angrily, exasperated. ” Aeon knew full well Penny already knew all of this and was just yanking her chain.

“Well, Miss ‘My Boss,’ your fiancée is not a cult leader,” Penelope quipped. “Where are several million Black people in America getting $500k per person to deposit into a Ghanaian AUA bank account to even qualify for the right of return? Sounds pretty culty to me, luv.” The lanky, naturally blonde white woman had a degree in international contract law and had passed the bar, but she had also minored in accounting, just like her investment banker parents. For the last seven years she had managed Isaiah’s american corporate holdings which consisted of his 51 percent control of the MYC/Monarch Yacht Corporation stocks he inherited from the Exodus designer the late Beaumont Ulysses Johnson, six months ago she won Izzy’s case in the supreme court freeing his company from civil forfeiture by the feds, having him removed from the list of terrorist. And removing the bounty on his head.

She knew the re-election of the orange Nazi had sped things up, and the mass deportation of Latino migrants only bolstered the popularity of the Homecoming movement in the African American population. An anonymous donor established a trust to fund the accounts of the banks of Ghana for the applicants. There are several million people living in a boat city along the west coast of Africa, and most of them used to live here; this thing is not going away—it is growing.

The Negro migration even affected the Latino immigrant situation. The Latino population is now either going on to Canada or working in Mexico, many even getting work visas for AUA/Ghana. It was looking very “Grapes of Wrath” in the fields of the US as poor whites joined the for-profit prison slaves to pick the crops for the first time in generations. The US is looking at a loss of over 40 million African Americans in three generations if things continue at this rate.

Penny smiled, “Seven years ago, the kid gave the leaders of every African nation some sort of a blueprint or coda he worked out using that AI, MOTHER, and they took it and ran with it. Whatever it was, it seems to be working.” The boys novel Motherland did something no Hotep armchair revolutionary, groveling ghetto vulture preacher or poverty pimps had done; it showed the reader how to build your own boat a 40 ft catamaran in less than a year for 40k dollars and by the time you finished reading Motherland you knew how to live on anchor as Isaiah did. The AUAs GNP has more than quadrupled in the last seven years.

The general AI, MOTHER, and her army of robots built by robots have turned that beach town into an engineering and architectural marvel. The towering ebony-hued 100-story ziggurats, the wave-powered tidal tower generators alone were worthy of a Nobel, that along with the new nation’s investment in solar and wind, and the rise of modular clay homes built by construction robots had made the nation’s investment in robotics factories a success; they now have the first robots designed and built by robots.

The Chinese continued pouring money into helping the AUA build its infrastructure, a part of a seven-decades-long soft power strategy begun in the 1950s while the US and the rest of the West were still supporting colonial powers and apartheid states. They, along with India and the majority of the Arab oil states, were now betting on the success of the AUA.

Isaiah never talked about what he had done during the 2 AUA civil wars as the commander of Omega Squadron, the African Defense Forces state-sponsored death squad; after the war, he just returned to sailing around the world. Everywhere he docked, he would talk to local fishermen as he repaired a propeller fouled with plastic trash. The store clerks when he purchased supplies. The mechanics when he worked on the engine in docks and harbors on islands from the Pitcairn Islands to the Faroe Islands.

…He never let anyone know where he would go, and if someone called the news while he was docked gathering provisions or repairing the ship, he was never rude. “If you wish to talk after you get off work, you’re welcome to come by for dinner this evening.” A reporter in Britain showed up after for supper with no cameraman or gaffer or sound guy, just to have dinner with some Black kid on a sailboat; he let him use his iPhone to video the evening.

The Exodus was moored in the port in Brighton overnight to pick up a new stabilizer brace for one of the sloop’s alternators that had broken; contrary to popular belief, the entire ship is not made of marine grade titanium—that is mostly in the hull and deck. Isaiah drank tea and talked over a meal of fish burgers, & chips. He didn’t drink that evening but offered boxed Pinot Grigio to his guest, and at the end of the evening, they shook hands, and a very shaken young reporter went on his way.

Hannah Thompson and Jazmine Patel were at the seaside shop looking for a bottle of wine to have with dinner that evening when they spotted the perpetually ivory-clad Malik-suited Isaiah Jones shopping at their favorite wine shoppe in Brighton.

“Excuse us, Hannah, the bottle blonde being the more assertive of the two, inquired. But aren’t you, Isaiah Jones?” He looked up from the fridge where the boxes of Franzia were kept, to observe the two local girls, both apparently in their late teens or early twenties.

“Yes, ma’am.” he grinned. His Texas accent thickened whenever he talked to a pretty girl.

“Oh, my gawd. Jazz says it was you an’ I says she was mental but’ she was too shy to ask herself. We both read your book ‘Motherland’; it was inspirational. The last line, when you finally arrive in Ghana ‘Centuries ago, something sacred was stolen.” When Jazz read that part to me, we both cried. What a lovely ending.” made me wish I was African.

“Thank you.”

“So, what brings ya’ to our neck of the woods?” Hannah inquired. “I’ve never heard of ya’ sailin’ ‘his far north.” Izzy extended a hand to shake Jazz’s as he spoke.

“So, I guess your real name must be Jasmine?” he said with a smile, to the honey-colored Pakistani girl with her long ebony-hued hair in a French braid.

“Yes, Jasmine replied demurely, the same way your nickname is Izzy.”

“Oh yeah, he said, turning his attention to Hannah as he shook her hand. I was visiting some old friends from school and had a bit of engine trouble, he grinned. pretty boring stuff really, he shrugged, unless you’re keen on diesel engines.” They both laughed.

“No, not the least bit. Hannah confessed. But we would both love to see that big black ship of yours, the SS Exodus. We at least know enough to not show up empty-handed to anyone’s ship. How about you let us bring the wine?”

“I’m a decent cook, if you dare to turn me loose in your galley. Jazmine said shyly. When was the last time you let someone else do the cooking?”

Hannah laughed. “Don’t let her modesty fool ya’, my girl Jazz is an actual sous chef at the Salt Room. I’m just a humble croupier, but she swears I’m the comic relief. When I code-switch to RP at work. It’s a very posh 5-star establishment. We share a flat not too far from here.”

“Are you two together?” he asked.

“No, Hannah laughed, we’re not lovers, just me China with benefits, after all, who can afford to rent a flat alone these days?”

“Uh, yeah sure, I’ve got fresh fish I caught yesterday in the fridge already, I was just going to eat alone tonight while I wait for the alternator brace to be delivered. Is cod ok with you ladies?”

Jazz smiled. “I think I can figure out something interesting. I can’t believe you’re actually in Brighton, no one is ever going to believe this.”

“I do not do social media.” Isaiah reminded them.

“We know you are the most introverted famous person on the planet, Izzy, Hannah teased. it’s ok if I call ya Izzy, right?”

Isaiah chuckled. “Yeah, I actually prefer my friends call me that.”

“Ah, so we’re friends already. Hannah quipped. Com’on we’ll have a bite, a few drinks, a few laughs, and see where the night leads. Have you ever had Lemon cheesecake with mint jelly for breakfast?”

“No.”

“Well, you are in for a real treat luv. Hannah said with a wink and a grin.”

By the time the trio finished shopping and returned to the Exodus, there was a stranger waiting for him on the docks. Hannah took one look at him and said. “He looks like Barney, that one does.” The medium built brown haired white man appeared to be in his late 20s or early 30s, stood on the docks near the Exodus wearing a navy peacoat, dungarees, dock martins, and an indigo wool stocking cap and a pair of thick black rimmed rectangular eyeglasses. He was obviously waiting for Isaiah when he looked up and saw him. he waved, flashing a jagged British smile as they neared the stranger.

He introduced himself as Oliver Monroe Gardner, a reporter for a rightwing rag that made both the girls turn their noses up. Isaiah fist bumped his extended hand and allowed him to follow them onto the ship.

While Jazmine took over the ship’s galley and began to prepare their meal for the evening, crispy cod fish burgers, tartar sauce, and triple-cooked chips. Isaiah chatted with the reporter as he filled his guests’ glasses with wine. He talked slowly and chose his words very carefully at the beginning, but as the evening wore on, he was less guarded. Hannah sipped her wine as she watched from her seat next to the galley while Jazmine cooked, realizing that Izzy was just Charlie, and the ship was his chocolate factory. You could sense that he was at peace on board the Exodus; Oliver Monroe Gardner, the 27-year-old British right-wing reporter, looked at the 44-foot sloop Isaiah had called home for the last three years and remarked,

“This skiff is bigger than my old flat in London.”

“Do you know anything about the other three prototype Monarch 44s?”

“Yes,” replied Isaiah bemused, “The Monarch C-44, the Monarch Al-44, and the Monarch SiO2-44, each a one-of-a-kind hidden prototype never brought into production. Everyone has heard the rumors of the Four Horsemen. Some of the stories you people tell me, he slowly shook his head as he chuckled, they talk about these mystical super sailing ships designed to survive the coming apocalypse.”

“So, Oliver asked What do you have to say about the rumors that the US State Department put you on the terrorist list the day after you gave the world’s first general intelligence AI to the leaders of every nation on the continent of Africa two years ago. They have frozen all of your assets in the states, and the Justice Department put a record high bounty on your head—do you regret not doing the right thing and giving the technology to the USA, the nation that educated you and whose labs at SMU you certainly must have used in its development? By law, the university owns that software you create while there as a student.”

Isaiah looked into the reporters’ eyes with a ferocious anger seething just beneath the surface it was clear he had stepped on a sore spot.

“First off, I was home-schooled. I patented my software six years before I set foot on the campus of SMU Second, even if I hadn’t, they would not have any right to it. And as far as the price on my head, well, Isaiah said as he placed his pistol on the table in front of the reporter. You are welcome to try to collect it. Here, use this,” Isaiah said as he placed the biggest revolver Oliver had ever seen on the table between them.

” ‘Mister Chekov’ a gift from the AUA; it is a .50 caliber revolver. They gave a pair to every member of Omega Squadron. Just remember, Ollie, you have to bring me in alive to collect that 20-million-dollar reward, and well, Isaiah’s voice was ice. Let’s just say I don’t have any such restrictions.”

Oliver looked at the hand cannon sitting on the table, the handle on his side, the barrel already facing his host; it was as if Isaiah was daring him, hoping, praying he would try to pick it up. He looked at the young man, a teenager he had seen execute two former heads of state with a bloody spear, sitting across the dinner table, smiling at him, waiting for him to do something stupid. And it registered with Oliver but not the two girls that he said pair, and there was only one pistol on the table.

The AP reported that Isaiah still had a bullet lodged in his right leg from the last civil conflict in the Gambia. He reported back for duty 24 hours later. Oliver ignored the gun, picked up his wine glass, and downed its entire contents, then refilled his glass himself. The other two Brits, Jazmine and her friend Hannah from Soho, were both now sitting with them at the dinner table, as he continued as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

So, you named your gun? he asked, sweat beading on his reddening forehead and not so stiff upper lip as he struggled to maintain his composure.

I was raised in Texas partna’. He said, laying the accent on thick as SOS gravy. We name our vehicles, our weapons, and our genitals.

This elicited another round of giggling from the two girls. Oliver asked the logical follow-up question. So, we know your ships name is the Exodus, your guns name is Mister Chekov, the only thing we don’t know is the name of your penis. He said with a nervous laugh.

Mister Johnson. Isaiah replied with a deadpan face. The cabin erupted with laughter while Isaiah sat there looking innocent as if he had said nothing unusual.

Isaiah was from Texas; to him, nothing going on here was out of the ordinary. 20 million dollars was a lot of money, but Oliver Monroe Gardner was certain of only one thing, if he touched that gun, he had a 0% chance of ever collecting the reward. There was something truly terrifying about turning a high-functioning autistic mathematician like Isaiah Jones into a soldier. Isaiah seemed satisfied with this, then continued.

“Look, people like to talk and make up stories; for most of human history, our ancestors did it around the light of a campfire. Today, we do it by the light of the digital screens on our phones and PCs. You can’t live your life worrying about people talking.”

“So, Oliver continued nervously. The nation of Ghana’s now the capital of the AUAs economy, has exploded with the influx of dollars from expats congregating in Port Garvey. Your thoughts on the situation there?”

“I am happy that others are also exercising their right of return and acquiring dual citizenship as a citizen of the African nation myself. I think this is good for Africa and good for the children of the diaspora.”

“So, is it racist for only black people to be invited to Port Garvey?” Isaiah threw back his head as his laughter’s baritone rang out for the first time that night.

“Abso-fucking-lutely, yes. If you should find your people have for centuries been forcibly scattered around the globe as mine have, then I implore you to invite ‘all’ of your people to return home to Europe, as I have my people to Africa. Shall we begin the Ghost Dance, brotha’? he said with a pitch perfect East Ender accent.

The music of the two women’s laughter filled the cabin as they sipped their drinks waiting for the reporter to leave. Oliver realized they were laughing at him not with him. He ended the interview shortly after that.

“Well,” Aeon said, breaking the silence as they stood on the dock, “For a kid with autism and language difficulties, he handled himself incredibly well. That is what my abuela would call a display of psychic judo.” Aeon smiled as she looked at the 6-year-old video on Penny’s iPhone screen. Penelope laughed. “That, my love, was a master class in diplomacy. If this was a fight, he just pantsed the other guy and ass-raped him in the middle of the octagon on pay-per-view. You know he absolutely smashed those two girls after the reporter left, Penelope grinned, I would have.”

Aeon nodded in agreement. “They met Mister Johnson, and all I’ve had for the last seven years is your vibrating rubber cocks and that lovely tongue of yours to hold me over until our hero returned. They both erupted with laughter.

“This cult of his…” Penelope said.

“It’s not his cult, dammit!” Aeon snapped defensively. “The Homecoming movement grew organically in his wake. He’s not like that creepy fucker Reverend Jim Jones.”

“Ok, okay, the lanky blonde replied apologetically, but riddle me this Batgirl, after plunking down 49. 99 for his novel ‘Motherland’ best seller for the last 5 years. Where exactly are Black people in America getting $500 thousand dollars per person to deposit in a bank account to qualify for the right of return? Because if you do not have a bank account in Ghana with a minimum of half a million dollars in it you do not qualify for citizenship. That’s all I’m saying.”

“It’s not $500k per person; it’s per family of four,” Aeon continued. “An anonymous donor has established a trustee to fund the accounts to the banks of Ghana for the applicants. There are several million people living in boat cities mostly along the west coast of Africa, and majority of them used to live here. This thing is not going away; it’s growing.

The experts are predicting a loss of over 40 million African Americans in three generations if things continue at this rate.” Penelope added, “Baby boy gave them some sort of blueprint or coda he cooked up using that AI MOTHER, and the AUA took it and ran with it. Whatever it was, it seems to be working. Their GNP has more than quadrupled in the last seven years.

The AI and robots have turned Accra Beach into an engineering and architectural marvel. The tidal towers wave-powered generators alone would have made him a billionaire had he sold it here rather than give it away to the 54 African nations, with the investment in solar and wind, and the rise of the modular clay homes built by the robots, have made the nation’s investment in robotics factories a success. They now have the first robots designed and built by AI.”

Penny looked up from the screen at Aeon, laughing. “I know for a fact my strap-on stroke game is strong: ‘King Kong ain’t got shit on me!’ But I also know you miss the way he throw that dick.” Finally, Penny sighed as the music of Aeon’s laughter filled the air. She seemed to relax a little, laughing while Mau Mau danced at their feet as they secured the ship’s lines.

“(Tell ’em)

I burn down my house and build it up again

(Tell ’em)

I burn it down twice just for the fun of it

(Tell ’em)

So much money I don’t know what to do with it

(Tell ’em)

I don’t pick up my phone; ain’t no one worth the time

(Tell ’em)

I got me one gun and an alibi

(Tell ’em)

So much love that the whole thing feels like a lie.

Mount Everest aint got shit on me

cause I’m on top of the world

I’m on top of the world

I’m on top of the world”

-Labyrinth

[note 1][The establishment of modern Sino-African relations began in the late 1950s, when China signed bilateral trade agreements with Algeria, Egypt, Guinea, South Africa, and Sudan. Chinese Premier Zhou Enlai made a ten-country tour of Africa between December 1963 and January 1964.]

[note 2][The Salt Room menu 3 COURSES 25/29

The Salt Room Fish Soup Rouille, Gruyere, Croutons

Scorched Stracciatella (v) Ash Roast Heritage Beetroots, Radicchio, Pumpernickle, Molasses

Crispy Creedy Duck Salad Watermelon, Toasted Cashews, Sweet Soy & Sesame Dressing

Fish & Chips Fillet of Haddock, Triple Cooked Chips, Tartar Sauce & Lemon (£5 Supplement)

Shetland Mussels & Frites White Wine, Garlic, Tarragon & Crème Fraîche

The Salt Room Fish Burger Crispy Cod, Tartar Sauce, Triple Cooked Chips

Bedlam Farm Squash Curry (v) Chili, Snake Bean & Thai Basil

Affogato Ice Cream & Coffee

Mille Feuille Chamomile, Fig, Yoghurt

A Twist of Lemon Lemon Cheesecake, Mint Jelly

This menu is available for groups of up to 6 people. Please alert your server to any allergies or dietary requirements. While every effort is made to prepare dishes

to accommodate dietary needs, we run an open kitchen and therefore cannot guarantee that any item will be free from unintentional allergens. A discretionary

12.5% service charge will be added to your bill, 100% of which goes directly to the team. We are a cashless venue.

(v) Vegetarian (vg) Vegan

Glass of Veuve Clicquot Champagne

Yellow Lab]

-about the author:

JD Cloudy’s poetry has disappeared in the literary journals; Fatfizz, Mad Swirl, Texas Beat Anthology, Danse Macabre, Du Jour, and Death List Five. He has won no literary awards, entered no slam competitions, and never completed college. He lives to write in Dallas, Tx.