Rained Out

Wandered, blasted, then drifted towards my coastal home for fishing, big plans, Virgo buddy’s birthday.

Rained Out

Previously, it should be quite clear about my destination, Texas Gulf Coast with weird weather patterns and that fecund, rotting stench of oil, salt water, and pelican poop mixed in the lagoon’s miasmic aroma.

Winds gusting over 20 knots, no, not a good day on the bay.

“Hey, let’s tell the girls we’re going fishing, and we can head over to that gentleman’s club in Corpus…”

Haven’t been, don’t frequent, and don’t plan to start; however, I do know, South Texas is awash in new oil money, Eagle Ford Shale, and as such, there’s brawny oil-field workers everywhere. Which would mean, on a rainy day, the titty bars would be full.

Always maintained it was boom or bust mentality, and this is the middle of an oil boom.

So we got rained out. I can always fish another day.

The aforementioned club? Not happening, ever.

Or not in my foreseeable future, and foreseeing the future is my day job.