Sitting On The Dock

He must have waited for a lull in the conversation. For the one big talker of the table to get up for the washroom or to buy another pitcher. Maybe someone leaned back, their elbow knocking against his. Maybe he just stumbled down the uneven stone path and landed there.


“You kids wanna know a secret,” he said, sliding across the picnic table’s seat. They did. They hungered for something to talk about the next day, something to follow, do you remember when.

“There’s no win or lose,” he said. “Only compromise. Mind if I have one of those?”


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