Didn't think I had enough pound to haul them in. Thought I had hooked me a log, but I never gave up. Old man casts. Sits on overturned bucket. Smells of fish, worm, and bayou water.
Old eyes rest on rod.
Points to a spot where muddy waters swirl. They like to sit on the bottom and wait. Old man smokes. Dreams behind half closed eyes, or imagines fat yellow cat hauling on line dropped where Bayous meet. Old man waits.