fishbeer

Aug 12 2009 10:23 am

the doldrumites

She looked absent mindedly at the concrete wall and exhaled cigarette smoke like a thick streaming liquid into continental August humidity and it slowly expanded to fill the truck’s cab despite the open windows.  He sat in the driver’s seat furiously scratching at the ten number twenties he had just purchased for thirty dollars.  It was a well dented and rusty white GMC from the early 1990s.  


I turned off my car and went inside where there was a line of three or four people so I took up position awkwardly between a tall spindly wire rack holding bags of chips precariously in four different directions and a very old woman with a genuinely dirty backpack.  She might have been homeless.  Probably.  She kind of looked like the rack of chips.  She smelled like mold and sweat and urine and it made me gag a little.


I’ve been working, tying flies like a madman, and making occasional forays to the convenience store for Twinkies, Mountain Dew, and chewing tobacco.  I haven’t eaten a real meal in about a week, though I did manage to gnaw some scraps of dried flesh off the pheasant skin Tim gave me.  This is probably good for my nutrition as I don’t think there is any protein in Twinkies, Mountain Dew, or chewing tobacco.  


I leave for Colorado on Saturday.  Smallmouth tomorrow.  I stop for yarrow, is the bumper sticker I have.

 

  

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