Harrrrrt

For all his exploits, explorations, exhortations, and other such extremely exaggerated events of swashbucklery (exacting revenge and the like, you know), the pirate came back to the same room year after year.

This particular room was special for a couple of reasons. First of all, no one, no matter how hard they looked, could ever find it. It was hidden inside a house, that was built along a street of identical-looking houses. Ten houses on the left that differed only in the shade of brown paint used on the walls, twenty more on the right with a slightly unique lawn gnome as the only indicator that you were anywhere different than you had been eight houses back. And when someone did chance upon the right house, the pirate's house (which never happened), they couldn't find a way in, because they didn't have a key. Now this may seem silly to some of you, but for a pirate a key is a pretty precious thing that doesn't come along all the time. A lot of pirates out there don't have a single key to show off to their friends.

Perhaps the reason the pirate kept coming back, though, was that this room never, ever, ever changed. The pictures on the wall had been there for ages. They told a story; a portrait of a pirate as a young man. When the pirate came into this room, this eternal room, he stepped into a simpler time, where a feller didn't have to worry about bad wenches and sea monsters and scurvy. It was so simple, that sometimes this pirate would just sit in this room, from morning until nighttime. Then, when it was dark, the pirate would take off his hat, then his boots, then his breeches and overcoat and unbuckle his sword and take off his rings and jangly bracelets and just disappear.