Above, still seated on the wooden bench, sat
Phil. He noticed the slackness of his line and reeled
it in a bit, then rested the fishing pole again into
the groove of the railing. He jiggled the pole and
shrugged. He wasn’t sure if he liked fishing or not.
The two ounce weight he’d attached earlier to
his rig skimmed the bloated female body again; the
tackle still danced around her head and neck area
along with the crabs and pin fish.
Bored, Phil toyed with the shrimp he’d cut
earlier for bait, two pieces lie on the railing; it
would be only minutes before the sun would dry
them to it. Phil chuckled; his father had told him
time and again to never leave the shrimp there.
Put the pieces you’re not using back into the
bag so they won’t dry out. Phil could hear his
father’s admonishing words as he eyed the two
pieces; he touched them with his fingers, they felt
rubbery; already the sun was baking them. The
corners of his mouth curved upward in defiant glee.
Leaning back against the fishing pier bench the
young teenager propped his feet against the
wooden slats. He reached into a small cooler and
fished out a Sun Drop;-it tingled his throat as he
gulped it nearly to half empty, then from his shirt
pocket he grasped the pack of Pall Mall he had
bought earlier that morning at Grocery World.
He thought of the girl there, the one with the
wispy blond hair; her name tag said Mindy. She
never asked for his I.D. He grinned; she was cute,
though a little thick through the middle.
Phil always flirted with her, knowing he could
tap that anytime he wanted. But today, he wanted
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