what's in the title of a post?

"I am leaving with the last ferry. You can have the island for yourself for the next few days."
He spoke eloquent, as if he could endow peoples content and happiness by sheer presence. He left. The void of the island-villain did not punch a hole into my psyche, instead his departure resurrected tense muscles in my neck to almost normal conditions.
Island life is direct and immediate. What you seed is what you get back. Manhattan is an island as well, but you can drown there as a black dressed person, loosing everything that makes up your individuality, your face. In Manhattan there are no immediate check and balances, you stay anonymous. Not so on this island in Maine. Everybody knows, everybody hears, about everything you do. Something to consider.
Those considerations are not part of the equation to my "island-villain" friend, part of the reason that he doesn't make it here, on this island.
"It is fascinating to see and observe how you dig into my stash of food lately, without giving it a second thought, or even asking. Don't you have enough cash to buy your own beans for the morning coffee, or are you just that cheap kind of guy?" I asked. There was no conclusive answer. Instead he was telling me the same old story again, the one I have heard twenty two times before, the one of doing this and that, the one where one expects a congratulating clap on the shoulders from the listener. It exhausts me. Self manufactured praise is the cheapest form of gratification. It is so sad to see a friend go down that road. There is no return, there is no passage. Pity replaces valuable bonds you once had in common. There is nothing you can do, you just stay patient and wait it out...

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Little tidbits of island life, the pictures are from outside the library where I park my truck to get internet connection. The story of island life is not sad, the story is infectious. More later...