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"Checklist," he mumbled to himself. "I gotta make a checklist." Mumble, mumble, "Lessee, tackle bag, raingear, life jacket, Avet, ...." mumble, mumble.
The stuff was heavy and awkward, and he tripped over the raingear suspenders twice on his way down the dock, spilling what coffee he had left. No biggie, it was almost cold anyway, and he could feel the acid working at his stomach. Working his stomach just like the salt smell did, churning his gut in anticipation of the first few swells at the bar, an uneasy marriage of tide, swell, and the boat wakes they would chase out to the killing fields.
"Ice," he muttered, "I forgot ice. I've gotta make a checklist."
<next...>
The stuff was heavy and awkward, and he tripped over the raingear suspenders twice on his way down the dock, spilling what coffee he had left. No biggie, it was almost cold anyway, and he could feel the acid working at his stomach. Working his stomach just like the salt smell did, churning his gut in anticipation of the first few swells at the bar, an uneasy marriage of tide, swell, and the boat wakes they would chase out to the killing fields.
"Ice," he muttered, "I forgot ice. I've gotta make a checklist."
<next...>
