As I cruised closer I could see the massive doors that lead onto the docks were closed. It was then when I First saw Billy Varnum sitting on a five-gallon bucket turned upside down of course for comfort. This crusty old dude looked liked he could help me with the search for bait or he might even have a key to the tank by the river, where the shrimp were kept alive. I grabbed the bow rope and hopped off onto the dock to secure my boat. I turned to Billy and said hello and politely asked if he had any live shrimp for sell.
Bugs are what the old salts call shrimp.
I was not much for drinking, but I was getting more depressed by the second. My chances of catching that trophy speck were falling faster and faster. I was also raised to never turn down food or drink, because in the South if you say no to an offer like that it was considered very offensive and just downright rude, so I said sure and asked if he knew where I might have some luck finding some bait with my cast net. I remember thinking what a jerk this guy must be the town drunk. I saw Billy open the door of icehouse and dig around in the mountain of ice to retrieve two ice-cold beers.