Port-Side Flight Deck of the Avalon, 2200 Hours
"Nice going, Hero." He muttered to himself. "From blazin' smugglers to swabbin' decks."
He let out a second sigh, this one with a touch of anger. He paused in his stroke and then grabbed the mop and tossed it across the deck where it landed next to a plastic bucket half-filled with gray water. He reached into his pants pocket and retrieved a cigarette with his teeth. He fumbled for his lighter and a few moments later, he blew a relaxing breath of smoke towards the ceiling high above. He let out a cynical laugh to himself, "Wonder if I'll ever see a jock smock again?"
He leaned against the bulkhead and crossed his arms. A moment later, his eyes closed and he let himself enjoy memories of his time behind the stick.