The Pike The day wasn't much older than his thoughts, as he stood by the shoreline, looking dumb, feelin nauseous. The breeze played with his beard, and tried its best to fuck with his head. If anyone could ask him, he would admit it made a pretty good job. -There's too much lake, and to little coffe in this joke of a forrest, he gruntled, as he started making his way alongside the water, towards the old boat. He threw the fishing rod into it already ten feet before he got there. A pathetic protest that ofcourse didn't really make any difference at all. The man wasn't likely to be less alone, prone to vomit or a bit more at ease with the whole wind-in-beard situation, just becouse of that. No, everything was just the same. A broken man, with a broken rod. He let loose an impressing series of filthy words, as he summoned what strenght he had left and pushed the boat through the sand and out in the water. After that, he just sat him self down, and listened..
