It was a holiday for the fish. I rolled out of bed, full well intending to hit the trail and fish, and couldn’t stir forth.
Went back to bed, instead.
Woke up to hear a neighbor, a crotchety old man, holler, “You kids get off my lawn!”
There’s your flying car.
I got a pile of paperwork out of the way in the morning, and we picked up some more plants for the patio then fished until the wee hours, but the weather seemed to scare the fish off. While shopping, I’d wanted top pick up some chartreuse night crawlers, genetically modified worms. However, somehow, I managed to get out without snagging a dozen of the yellow-green squrmy things.
Going to try early fishing again, bereft of glow-in-the-dark worms.
