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So, picture this—me, Jack, stumblin’ ‘cross an escort in Port Royal. She’s all dolled up, eyes sharp as me cutlass. “What’s yer price, lass?” I slur, rum breath and all. She smirks, “More’n yer loot, pirate.” Cheeky! Made me laugh, it did—happy as a clam at high tide. But then, oh, the rage! She knew me tricks—wouldn’t fall fer me charm. “Not all treasure is silver,” I mutter, but she’s off, heels clickin’.

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After that, I was feeling all zen and decided to grab some dinner at a place called Kaffi Duus. The seafood was fresh, and I was in heaven. But then, the waiter spilled my drink. Again! I was like, “Is this a joke?” But he was super apologetic, so I couldn’t stay mad.

Cast Off By The United States a Decade Ago, Keflavik is Again a Key Lookout