Hey, writer-type folks. Every Friday we* do a fun free write. Basically, you can write whatever you want in the comments section. You have FOUR minutes. Have fun. The more people who play, the more fun it is. So tell a friend. If you have one. If not, tell your enemies.
The old man sat on a log abutting the stream. His hand cradled a lightweight spinning rod that had seen many years, it was weathered just like the man. Down the bank a ways, there were some teenagers fishing with a cooler of beer. He ignored them and they reciprocated.
The day progressed like days do. Sun shone in soft rivulets that seemed to pour down the man's face, collecting at the bottom of his spine where the warmth soothed an old injury that had never healed quite right.
The man was not catching any fish. The youngsters caught plenty of beer. The man never made a cast, just sat watching his line in the water, absorbing the sun. Pine smell. Somehow the laughter of the kids was right, too. Usually, he liked quiet, but he hadn't heard that much laughing in a while.
He was reeling in when the tall, thin one approached.
"Not a damn thing, son."
The man finished reeling in and the boy laughed.
"Maybe if you put a lure on it would help."
The old man winked a smile that spoke of things the boy did not yet understand.
"Maybe, but I'm not here to catch fish."
*Laurie Boris and I lately you slackers!