You can brag about the catch, but you must always lie about the origin. She cried, her momma cried, and her daddy sweat while the preacher put his hand over her face and laid her back into the water until her whole body felt like it was going to sink to the bottom of the ocean. The size of a pack of cigarettes, Wahalla is a place where handfuls of people have lived all their lives. Tatters of candy-striped awnings flutter in breezes. Half-submerged skiffs rot in the marina.
Rats scurry under planks at our approach.
Mr. Personality's got a wild hair up his ass this morning. His older brothers and sisters had quit school as soon as the state would let them, and Frog had been held back two or three times. The sun was going down, the room would be cooler. I had spent a week lost in her arms. The more lost I became, the less I cared.