An Elderly Man Sat Fishing On A Wooden Pier Until Three Young Men Approached Him

their rounds. He had done this for thirty-seven years, and the rhythm of it was so deep in him now that he woke without an alarm at quarter past four and was dressed and out the door before the kettle finished boiling, a thermos of tea tucked under his arm and the folding chair and the rod case already in the back of the old Niva that his son had offered continue reading …