There’s no telling how many times I’ve crossed Intercoastal Bridge on the way to Surfside Beach, Texas.
I grew up nearby.
I’ve crabbed the bayous, wade fished the surf, cast lines from the jetties, swam the waters, and all the while immensely adding to my chances of skin cancer.
This time the trip across the bridge didn’t go to the beach but to a marina. Deep sea fishing. 50 miles out on a chartered boat with my four sons and son-in-law.
It was Friday the 13th, maybe not the best day to go more than 50 miles out on the wild blue yonder with all my name linage, but that’s what we did.
We met the two fishing guides 30 minutes before daylight, swallowed more Dramamine, and set sail.
Some of the best characters are real live people….and so it was at lunch time. While eating lunch in a grocery store “deli”, an old gentleman was sitting at a table staring down the aisles. He looked tired, but content.
We exchanged head nods when I sat at the table near him, which in body language means, “I see you. I acknowledge you. I’m going sit here, but we won’t talk and ruin this quiet.”
Two minutes later, a heavy set man in his late 50’s walked by and spoke to the elderly gentleman who he obviously knew.
“Hey! You gettin’ yourself a lunch here?”
The old man responded, “No. My wife’s shopping so I’m waiting.”
“Well”, the big man said, “I’s gonna get me a lunch, but the line’s long right now. I’m not real hungry anyway. I microwaved a chicken pot pie for breakfast. You’re lookin’ like you’re feelin’ better”. Continue reading Fish Story→
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