more brazen indifference than ninja tactics

bass fruit

The suburban camouflage of collared shirts, buttons and khaki could only conceal our position for so long, and the level of contempt in the HOA woman’s eyes could have drowned a rat. She didn’t give a shit about the fish, only that we weren’t one of them. Even her dog looked mad. But it’s fine, she was three hours late to the party and our buggers and streamers had already yanked a few specimens of forbidden fruit out of her chemically treated pond.

“Do you live here?”

“No, but I got permission from, uhhh, Sandy... Sandy Johnson? Maybe you know her?”

“The homeowner has to be with you if you are going to fish. You are trespassing. Please leave.”

Aaron the trespasser.

It’s okay, I’m no anarchist and I don’t generally get off on breaking the rules, but I will when I feel it's necessary for the keeping of sanity. She wasn’t telling us anything that we don’t already know but sometimes you just have to go catch some pond slobs to prove that there is more to fly fishing behavior in Tucson on a weekday afternoon than organizing gear, hanging out at the fly shop or sitting at the vise on the couch watching TV... even if I have to endure Miss I-walk-my-dog-around-the-lakes-every-day-to-drive-out-leaching-scum-like-you and her judging eyes.

It’s okay, she looked divorced.