The sun is beating down on my face. Beads of perspiration slowly make their way down my face from my forehead. Bolts of sharp pain shoot up my back, it feels as though we have been sitting here for hours, though I know it has only been an hour at most. The boat is rocking back and forth in the middle of the lake as if it’s trying to rock us to sleep. In my hands is the splintered and warm from the sun wooden handle of an old fishing rod from yesteryear. You always insist on using those, since your grandfather gave them to you when you were just a small child. There is so much energy inside me that I feel that I am about to burst. I start rambling on and on about pointless gossip and the latest news, but you harshly shush me, because apparently I am going to scare away the fish. With an attitude I deeply sigh and quiet down. I take in the scenery around me. All I can see is water for miles and miles, clean and refreshing. I don’t know how many times we have spent hours out here fishing...
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