...
"God damnit..."
I'd look up from my dining room table, realising I had fallen asleep.
He'd grab a nearby dish-towel, and wipe his face off.
I'd stand up, and straighten out my clothes.
I walked to my front door, and grabbed my makeshift fishing rod, a small net, and a container of worms.
I'd store the worms in my messenger's satchel my mother had sewn for me, out of a strong linen.
I'd grab my box, with hooks and spare line, and make my way out of the front door.
"God damnit.., Dillon's up."
"******* waking us up, damn lanky ass skinny abused horses."
I'd make my way down to the edge of the forest, and walk sideways down the hill, to the nearby creek that had run into a pond.
I'd look over a the spot I had buried the body, not wanting to remember.
I'd make my way down to the creek, and settle down.
I'd tie a nice steel hook.
I'd thread a worm onto the stick with the line tied to it, and plink it into the water, weighed down by the lead weights.
Within' minutes, I'd see my line start to tighten.
I'd yank on the pole, setting the hook.
I'd lift the line out of the creek, pulling out a 17' inch Bullhead Catfish.
"Nice, My favorite."
I'd put the four and a half catfish inside of my burlap creel.
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