Going Nowhere Fast
Going fast, getting nowhere, and when pigs fly. It was a helluva day, and all Iwanted to do was fish.
The screeching of tires, the whistling of air horns, and the sickening rip of steel meeting steel filled the air on the state road Sunday morning. I’d gotten up early with my fishing pole and my best buddy Spot. We was heading down the old, abandoned tracks to our fishing hole. There’s a…