A few months, it came necessary for me to drop out of sight and lay low for a while. I’d been roughed-up a little and needed some time to charge my batteries.
So here I sit―holed up in this worn out old stilt house that’s older than I am. There’s always a bottle of redeye close-by―that’s about the only painkiller that ever does anything for me. Things are healing up pretty well and I’m close to being back to normal. Running hurts more than it used to, but age probably has something to do with that. This old dog that hangs around the house always runs with me, and when I slow down I make like I’m doing it for him. Truth is though, I need a break too.
My old skiff’s stays tied-up to the pilings under the house, but I mostly just cruise around the inland waterway and tidal creeks now. Fishing or netting shrimp just seems too much like work these days. Yella―that’s the dog― likes to stand up in the bow with the wind blowing his ears back and pretend he’s in charge. Truth be known, he probably is. He’s been hanging around here for ten years or so now. Sometimes I’ll be gone for weeks at a time, but he’s always here when I get home.
Anyway, since I’ve got some time on my hands, it seems like a good time to write down some stories. Most of them are about my old compadre Roy Dupree. He’s been my best friend since we were little kids, and it’s putting it mildly to say that his life has been more interesting than most. I know Roy doesn’t give a tinker’s damn if the world knows this stuff or not―I already asked him about that.
I’ve never done any real writing before, so I have to ask the reader to be patient―I’ll do the best I can. They’re good stories and you won’t be bored.
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