Fog dusted the lake like Rutherford’s daddy’s old Vega exhaust.
Birds were just starting to chirp. Rutherford didn’t know their names, didn’t care. Seemed like matching birds to their chirps and noises was one of those things that just took up brain space.
Rutherford just wanted to fish, keep a few, sell a few to the cook at the chicken place who swore he…
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