Chapter 14 [The Wharf]

He grabbed the archaic fishing rod (the first rod he’d ever fished with, and the rod he’d used every time thereafter on the boat of the old fisherman whom he’d befriended soon after he became a loyal (if regrettably only seasonal) patron of easily the best bar along the Atami Coast, where one could enjoy a pint or ten and a few whiskey neats and hear stories of the good ol’ days when the fish were prehistorically overgrown and Mercury meant a planet) with strong callused hands and leaned back for all he was worth, jerking heavy plastitwine© fishing line sharply as he hugged the unpadded exposed wood rod to his center, hoping to hook the hell out of whatever had been pulling Ol’ Sally down so hard. 

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