It's been a year since the last entry! Apologies....
@Stonedfish and the Three Women
By Luscious "Boot" Hemingway
Stones woke up from his nap. He was dreaming of seaglass middens. The piles of seaglass were high, like the mud and rocks near the Partisan's grave. He thought of the expatriate with the legs like telescopes and the face of a woman. He remembered what the bullfighter had said. The bullfighter talked while the black cat licked oils out of the sardine tin. That was the good time. When the bullfighter spoke to him and the sardines were easy to eat.
Habrá tres mujeres nadando con gorros rosas.
He knew the cutthroat trout were heating up in both North and South sound. He knew this even though the bullfighter was talking. He drank the Verdejo. he looked at the glass. One day this glass could become seaglass. Or it could be trash. Either way it could end up in his bucket. He liked men who carried two things, buckets and bandages. Three things. He changed his mind. The third thing, one more than two, the things that men carried, the third thing was sardines. Men that carried cans of sardines, he liked them too.
He was awake now. He was lying on the beach by his fly rods. His wading boots nearly touched his bucket. Puget sound was flat and the sun was high and the tide was dull. He thought of @roger stephens and his gurglers and pencil flies. Roger Stephens seemed like the kind of man who had sardines and bandages close by. He also seemed like the kind of man who kept his buckets clean. He rubbed his stubble and thought again about the seaglass and the women in the pink hats who were swimming and now emerging from the water. They did not look like the black cat that ate the fat from the sardine tin. They did not look like the expatriot with the legs like telescopes. The did not move like Roger Stephens or the bullfighter. They swam without buckets.
When he looked at them all three of them stopped and stared at Stones. Had he offered them something he did not have? He did not have any more sardines or a bucket full of seaglass to give. There were only a few pieces of seaglass. He did not carry a telescope or bandages any more. They looked at him Like he was a Lion with yellow teeth by the Kilamanjaro road. Not at the snow line but not far from it either. They looked like they could swim in cold water. Cold water like Lake Michigan near the Big Two Hearted River where the fat trout ate flies. They did not look like they swam with the sharks and the old men in Havana. They might have been communists or partisans but they did not look like fascists.
He drank more Absinthe. And then he drank more Albariño. He looked at the shotgun. He thought of the bandages the fascist wore over their eyes before they hung in the town square. He was glad he did not drive the ambulance or have to talk with the expatriot with the legs like two telescopes. He was glad he did not have to hang fascists. He did not like fascists. He wondered if he even liked partisans at this point. Or expatriots. Some of the things he used to like he no longer liked. Because of the bad times. He had seen a soldier, no more than a boy. He had one leg that did not telescope. That was the bad time. That boy would not fight bulls.
He might swim though. The boy would eat sardines and become strong. You can swim with one leg just as the sun will rise over the baked dirt and mud. The swimmers had two legs. There were three swimmers. There were six legs between the three swimmers. Each of them had two arms. Six Arms was the name of the bar in Lyon, close to where the Expatriot's sister had crashed the coupe. The sister did not have six arms and did not have legs like telescopes. She did not like sardines. She did not like Pulpo. The sister had a voice like a flywheel needing grease. They needed bandages and ointments then. Grease would not fix the sister, ointment and bandages would. Her broken bone pushed out of her skin. The ambulance men were old soldiers and had seen worse. That was a time that was not bad as the time they served in the war. That time the coupe wrecked was not good either. It was not war and death and mud, so it was a better time than the bad time. It did not rain mud. The ambulance men were paid in sardines and looked angry. They looked angrier when they first arrived. The sardines made them less angry. They were good sardines for a hot day. A hot can of sardines on a hot day when you could wrap bandages around long splintered bone was a good time. The bone would heal but the sister's voice would not.
He thought of the difference between good sardines and bad sardines and drank more Absinthe.
His wool turtleneck was itchy. The wool neck compressed his beard. His beard was just stubble earlier when he awoke. It made him very hot. His beard grew very quickly. Sardines made beards grow. You could not grow a leg back with just sardines to eat. But you could hide sardines in a beard. you could also hide the can they came in if the beard was big enough. He had known many partisans that hid sardines in their beards. When he watched the fascists hang he was younger, there were no sardines or bullfighters. His beard did not grow then. And the bandages were hard to find. His beard grew quickly now.
Flies moved into the cans that once held the sardines. The cans were near his wading boots but not in the bucket. They would be put there later. The wool and the sun and beard made him hot. The sun reflected off the empty sardine cans and made it harder to see the women. There were cans of pulpo too. Those cans were not angled to reflect the sun. The cans that once had Pulpo in them would also go in the bucket. You could eat pulpo, and you could eat sardines and you could find seaglass. Had there been a better time? He thought maybe not. Except for the high sun and the flat tide, overall it was a good time, better with rain and fog though. Not fog and mud, just regular fog. Fog that looked like cigar smoke or the exhaust from the PILAR as she moved to where the Marlin worked.
He would soon put all the cans in his bucket with the seaglass and other trash he had found. Later you would see the bucket also rises. With cans in it. Stones would lift the bucket up after the cans were placed in it and carry it to his ambulance. Which looked like a mildew-covered ford explorer from a very bad time. It looked like it had rained mud and mildew on his ambulance. But this ambulance could carry many buckets, and would be filled soon with more sardines. he would put his wading boots, his buckets, the seaglass, the cans, the trash, the shotgun, the rods into his fisherman's ambulance. He would not crash the coupe like the expatriate's sister did.
He thought that the coupe the expatriate's sister crashed. If it was filled with cans and buckets, she would not have broken her bone. The cans and buckets, if they surrounded her, they would protect her. The buckets would have likely broken. A bucket is a temporary thing. You can replace a bucket. He knew this was a good reason to have cans and buckets crammed into his ambulance. It was better to break a good bucket or to crush a can than splinter long bone.
The sun turned the mud to rock in the heat of the day. The tide stayed dull. There were fish but Stones was watching the women. Six arms, six legs, 3 pink caps, no buckets, no cans. This day was interesting. Puget Sound was heating up.
Source https://www.theatlantic.com/photo/2024/06/photos-keeping-cool-summer-heat/678720/
@Stonedfish and the Three Women
By Luscious "Boot" Hemingway
Stones woke up from his nap. He was dreaming of seaglass middens. The piles of seaglass were high, like the mud and rocks near the Partisan's grave. He thought of the expatriate with the legs like telescopes and the face of a woman. He remembered what the bullfighter had said. The bullfighter talked while the black cat licked oils out of the sardine tin. That was the good time. When the bullfighter spoke to him and the sardines were easy to eat.
Habrá tres mujeres nadando con gorros rosas.
He knew the cutthroat trout were heating up in both North and South sound. He knew this even though the bullfighter was talking. He drank the Verdejo. he looked at the glass. One day this glass could become seaglass. Or it could be trash. Either way it could end up in his bucket. He liked men who carried two things, buckets and bandages. Three things. He changed his mind. The third thing, one more than two, the things that men carried, the third thing was sardines. Men that carried cans of sardines, he liked them too.
He was awake now. He was lying on the beach by his fly rods. His wading boots nearly touched his bucket. Puget sound was flat and the sun was high and the tide was dull. He thought of @roger stephens and his gurglers and pencil flies. Roger Stephens seemed like the kind of man who had sardines and bandages close by. He also seemed like the kind of man who kept his buckets clean. He rubbed his stubble and thought again about the seaglass and the women in the pink hats who were swimming and now emerging from the water. They did not look like the black cat that ate the fat from the sardine tin. They did not look like the expatriot with the legs like telescopes. The did not move like Roger Stephens or the bullfighter. They swam without buckets.
When he looked at them all three of them stopped and stared at Stones. Had he offered them something he did not have? He did not have any more sardines or a bucket full of seaglass to give. There were only a few pieces of seaglass. He did not carry a telescope or bandages any more. They looked at him Like he was a Lion with yellow teeth by the Kilamanjaro road. Not at the snow line but not far from it either. They looked like they could swim in cold water. Cold water like Lake Michigan near the Big Two Hearted River where the fat trout ate flies. They did not look like they swam with the sharks and the old men in Havana. They might have been communists or partisans but they did not look like fascists.
He drank more Absinthe. And then he drank more Albariño. He looked at the shotgun. He thought of the bandages the fascist wore over their eyes before they hung in the town square. He was glad he did not drive the ambulance or have to talk with the expatriot with the legs like two telescopes. He was glad he did not have to hang fascists. He did not like fascists. He wondered if he even liked partisans at this point. Or expatriots. Some of the things he used to like he no longer liked. Because of the bad times. He had seen a soldier, no more than a boy. He had one leg that did not telescope. That was the bad time. That boy would not fight bulls.
He might swim though. The boy would eat sardines and become strong. You can swim with one leg just as the sun will rise over the baked dirt and mud. The swimmers had two legs. There were three swimmers. There were six legs between the three swimmers. Each of them had two arms. Six Arms was the name of the bar in Lyon, close to where the Expatriot's sister had crashed the coupe. The sister did not have six arms and did not have legs like telescopes. She did not like sardines. She did not like Pulpo. The sister had a voice like a flywheel needing grease. They needed bandages and ointments then. Grease would not fix the sister, ointment and bandages would. Her broken bone pushed out of her skin. The ambulance men were old soldiers and had seen worse. That was a time that was not bad as the time they served in the war. That time the coupe wrecked was not good either. It was not war and death and mud, so it was a better time than the bad time. It did not rain mud. The ambulance men were paid in sardines and looked angry. They looked angrier when they first arrived. The sardines made them less angry. They were good sardines for a hot day. A hot can of sardines on a hot day when you could wrap bandages around long splintered bone was a good time. The bone would heal but the sister's voice would not.
He thought of the difference between good sardines and bad sardines and drank more Absinthe.
His wool turtleneck was itchy. The wool neck compressed his beard. His beard was just stubble earlier when he awoke. It made him very hot. His beard grew very quickly. Sardines made beards grow. You could not grow a leg back with just sardines to eat. But you could hide sardines in a beard. you could also hide the can they came in if the beard was big enough. He had known many partisans that hid sardines in their beards. When he watched the fascists hang he was younger, there were no sardines or bullfighters. His beard did not grow then. And the bandages were hard to find. His beard grew quickly now.
Flies moved into the cans that once held the sardines. The cans were near his wading boots but not in the bucket. They would be put there later. The wool and the sun and beard made him hot. The sun reflected off the empty sardine cans and made it harder to see the women. There were cans of pulpo too. Those cans were not angled to reflect the sun. The cans that once had Pulpo in them would also go in the bucket. You could eat pulpo, and you could eat sardines and you could find seaglass. Had there been a better time? He thought maybe not. Except for the high sun and the flat tide, overall it was a good time, better with rain and fog though. Not fog and mud, just regular fog. Fog that looked like cigar smoke or the exhaust from the PILAR as she moved to where the Marlin worked.
He would soon put all the cans in his bucket with the seaglass and other trash he had found. Later you would see the bucket also rises. With cans in it. Stones would lift the bucket up after the cans were placed in it and carry it to his ambulance. Which looked like a mildew-covered ford explorer from a very bad time. It looked like it had rained mud and mildew on his ambulance. But this ambulance could carry many buckets, and would be filled soon with more sardines. he would put his wading boots, his buckets, the seaglass, the cans, the trash, the shotgun, the rods into his fisherman's ambulance. He would not crash the coupe like the expatriate's sister did.
He thought that the coupe the expatriate's sister crashed. If it was filled with cans and buckets, she would not have broken her bone. The cans and buckets, if they surrounded her, they would protect her. The buckets would have likely broken. A bucket is a temporary thing. You can replace a bucket. He knew this was a good reason to have cans and buckets crammed into his ambulance. It was better to break a good bucket or to crush a can than splinter long bone.
The sun turned the mud to rock in the heat of the day. The tide stayed dull. There were fish but Stones was watching the women. Six arms, six legs, 3 pink caps, no buckets, no cans. This day was interesting. Puget Sound was heating up.
Source https://www.theatlantic.com/photo/2024/06/photos-keeping-cool-summer-heat/678720/
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