The city of Milwaukee is always growing. Alas, it's growing at a much slower rate than it would've been a century ago. All of the good companies have flocked south and west...leaving the bad companies to make do with much less...and not to mention fewer people...who left to go after the good companies...if not a more generous retirement resort. The companies still here might be bad...but sometimes, they can also be really good...

This is a wide city street. Its name might as well be Beer Boulevard...considering who lives on it...or, WORKS on it, rather...

On the left, the HQ of Miller Brewing Company stands. Atop this tower, a lot of rich Miller families live the high life, exploiting the many, many, MANY stocks that are to be traded from the money that there is to be made from beer.

Just across the street, the Millers' competitors, the Pabsts, work in their own tower. It's not their HQ, but it's their "mother tower." When the Pabsts first became famous, they lived right here in Milwaukee. Topside this tower, a lot of rich Pabst families live the high life.

With telescopes pointed out of windows, they often try to spy on one another...just to see if they spill any family secrets, when they think the competition isn't looking... But then, let's just hope that it's TELESOCPES they keep pointing from those windows, and not the barrels of sniper rifles...

The Pabsts and the Millers are not particularly rivaling...especially not in contrast to the army and navy... But hotdamn, if some of them wouldn't like to be, sometimes...

Ah, Lake Michigan... Milwaukee's got shores on it, of course. From one, you can't see the other side. The sunrises here are epic...when they happen.

Far from this, Lake Winnebago attracts it also attracts anglers. Across the lake surface, the waves always.

Just beneath the surface, a few shad swim here and there. In this weather and at this time of day, the water is stained. Hence, there are plenty of themselves to go around.

A little shad swims here and there, looking for new adventures to go on. He doesn't see any...

A black crappie swoops up from behind, and gobbles him down. For him, it's a good thing the shad wasn't attached to a hook...

Alas, at this time of day, his chances don't look very good. Anglers have come from all over the state...and a few from out-of-state. They're not all here for the crappie...but they all just might be here for the halibut.

(Yes, I know; halibuts are saltwater. That was a pun; and hardly my invention, if I daresay so.)

There's a boat. It's longer than most...and nicer than most. It's on its way to a more isolated part of the lake.

Here, the engines slow. Here, an anchor is dropped. Out and down there, frogs and crickets sing. Fireflies flicker.

Aboard, mosquito lamps are lit. Mosquito-netted curtains are drawn; a dome virtually surrounds the boat's topside.

In the galley, candles are lit. Glasses of wine are lit ablaze. Corks are popped.

Aboard, a Pabst man and a Miller chick court one another. Miller never looked nicer in a little black dress. Soon, she'll peel it off. Soon, she'll be buried beneath the manly Mr. Pabst in a berth that's endowed with beer-themed bedding...

Outside, a swallow flies. He flies right into the netting, bounces off, and lands in the lake.

Underwater, he flaps around, trying in vain to find the surface, and fly away. He can't. From the depths, a pike arrives. One sniping and snarfing later, and the swallow is no more.

Ashore, there are wharfs. Some of them are next to boat ramps.

At the end of one, Irena sits. She's in nothing but sheer white lingerie. She doesn't usually do this...but tonight, she's waiting on a man.

From far away, red and blue lights flash. Their owner rolls into view, and parks near the wharf. A man in uniform dismounts. He slams the car door, and stands before the wharf's quayside.

Between his legs, one can see the near-bare back of Irena. She barely acknowledges him. She seems barely aware of him.

With his handcuffs clenched in his hand, Rod marches to the wharf's end. Again, Irena barely acknowledges him. She doesn't until he's joined him. And, she acknowledges him very slowly...with a poorly-repressed grin.

"You know," he tells her, "I could arrest you right now...for indecent exposure."

She shrugs her bare shoulders, and dangles her feet over the water's surface, below. "There ain't nobody here."

"There could be. And any man could come along and rape you. Is that what your Slovene parents would want? Is this what they invested in, when one of them got knocked up with you in her womb?"

"Well?" She flaps her blonde hair. "What's keeping you from throwing the book at me, then?"

He sighs, and takes a book out of his belt. He twirls it around in his hand, sighs, and abruptly throws it down...right next to Irena's ass.

"Absolutely nothing," he says. "Irena're under arrest...for grand theft officer's heart."

With her hands cuffed, he lays her down in the backseat. She's still in her lingerie. Back here, he mounts her. He rides her like a Polish pony. She's like nothing he's ever handled...and everything, at the same time.

Around them, the police car rocks from side to side. The roof lights are still flashing.

Back in the quiet cove, the yacht is another yacht. This yacht has one of their rival's logo branded on the hull...and yet, the yacht looks very much the same...and here for the same reason...

Somehow, the portholes of both boats' captain's cabins are board-and-board. Through them, two couples can see one another make out. One couple is a Pabst man making out with a Miller dame. The other is a Pabst dame making out with a Miller boy.

Hours pass...before both couples realize with whom they share a cove of love. They stop...and stare. They all know they've come here. They all know they're all cheating on their kin...

Now, both couples have something against one another. They've no choice but to blackmail one another. Non-verbally, they both agree to. And then, they go back to lovemaking...rocking both boats as they go along.