cattle tank

The deer ran, looking back towards the intruders wandering down the dirt road toward the small piddle of standing water that could not be found in any fishing book, on any blog, or even the Arizona Game and Fish website.

In the mid-summer fishing doldrums when the sun slaps you around and the bass down south refuse to look at anything popping around on the top sometimes you just have to take desperate measures and try not to step in cow shit or twist your ankle on the rough, dry used-to-be muddy banks of the place apparently known as Fagan Tank. I don't know how to feel about it. Probably a good place to dump a body, though.

lunker.

In the summertime

In the summertime the sun pushes on your face. Any expression quickly drips off your chin and away down the front of your shirt and by midday everyone wears a constant uuugh as their head lolls back and forth, eyes meandering behind half closed lids.

I watched the top half of a run-over cyclist crawl off the road screaming because the asphalt was melting his flesh.

I watched a flock of birds burst into flames and rain bubbly feathery char in a Wal-Mart parking lot.

I watched trees melt and air boil and glass drip from window frames and car doors.

I watched a lit match commit suicide because it couldn't take the heat.

Today, I walked around a lake, but didn't fish.

Today it was hot.

-Alex who thinks that 90° at 1:17am is stupid.