One time, I was lost in the middle of nowhere looking for a pond where I heard the fish were so catchy, they’d all but jump in your boat.
I knew I was close, so I stopped at this little rundown
store to ask for directions.
The girl at the counter looked bored.
“Beg your pardon,” I said, “but I’m looking for the fishin’
hole.”
“The fishin’ hole?” The girl was
flustered. “Listen, I don’t know what you’ve heard, mister … but that was one
fish … one time … and I was drunk as a skunk.”
Let me tell you, I wasn’t expecting that. When I asked if she’d just point me in the
right direction, she told me it’s right where I think it is and she wasn’t
about to show me.
I tipped my hat and was on my way. Tickled, but not the way I was looking to
be. Which was by a fish, nibbling on my
worm.
Charming as I found the countryside to be, my rambling
exploration of it (some folks … women
folks mostly … call it being lost) seemed not to be bringing me any closer to catching
anything but maybe hell for being such a dupe.
What if my hole was just another slippery ole fish story?
I confess to my conviction wavering a bit.
Another rundown store approached so I decided to stop and
inquire, figuring I had even less to lose than the little tart at the store I
asked at before.
The boy at the counter looked bored.
“Beg your pardon,” I said, “but I’m looking for the fishin’
hole.”
“The fishin’ hole?” The boy was flustered. “Listen, I don’t
know what you’ve heard, mister … but that was one fish … one time … and I was
drunk as a skunk.”
I didn’t ask him to point me the way.
Never did find that fucking pond.
###
-Harlowe Pilgrim
Copyright 2017 Cock and Bull Publishing, LLC
Harlowe Pilgrim’s books are available at Amazon, iBooks,
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