I've been thinking of layin' a trap for the old coot. Gather up his gear, put it in my jon boat and haul it down to one of my favorite lakes. Maybe make a day of it. Hit a couple of lakes and grab a lunch somewhere in-between. Best come up with a bar and grill that makes burgers just crying to be washed down with a couple of schooners of cold beer. Emil's never had a problem with a toot on at lunch when he ain't doing the drivin'.
There's a couple of problems with my plan. He'll put up an old man fuss over not fishin' out of his ancient Lund. But he'll get over that. And he won't like not bein' able to fire up a smoke with his first beer. Nature of the beast these days so he'll just have to suck it up and move on. Out on the water he'll be able to smoke Luckies to his failing heart's content. That's why I've got a pack in each shirt pocket and his old Zippo filled to the gills. Threw in a couple of books of matches just in case the flint goes kaput.
Now all I've got to do is drive up from the cities to his house in Parkers Prairie, honk twice and hope he comes out. If he's in the mood, we've got us a story, or two.
No comments:
Post a Comment