Grandpa’s getting old. I know it. His damn bitch wife knows it. He knows it. I remember when he retired. Trail maintenance he used to do, down by the river. He had a lot of good times doing that job, or rather not doing it. I come from a long line of lollygaggers. You don’t? Should try it sometime. It’s us who make the world go round after all.

I took him fishing, just the local public fishing hole, maintained by fish and game. Still need a license, but he’s a Vet, and I’m no poacher. I had to tie his hook for him, but he didn’t mind. He’s gotten used to asking for help by now, and I think he just likes talking to someone who’s not trying to give his land away to people who aren’t his blood. We didn’t catch anything. It’s a little late in the season for trout (at least stockers) and neither of us really know how to fish for the catfish they stock during the summer. Eventually both of us got birdsnests in our reels and decided to go get some breakfast. He wasn’t very confident in his cast with an open face reel anyways. That’s what button reels are for though.

The restaurant we went to (the first one was closed) was an old haunt of his from back when he worked trail maintenance. He and his lollygaggin buddy used to hit it on the clock. They served the most diner coffee you’ve ever had, and a carne adovada plate that tasted like home. Hard to do in our cumin-dominated culinary discourse.

Then I took him home. He left me with his tangled up open face rod. “What use do I have with it!” he told me, we had pulled out his closed face button rod a couple minutes earlier. Gave me a few salmon snagging hooks too. He’s been more willing to give stuff away the older he’s gotten. Money, rods, cars. It’s not like the stepkids are getting any of it, what’s he got to lose? Time? Hah! He’s been lollygaggin his whole life, he’s not about to stop.

Well there’s always next week. I’ll get him one, two, a few fish. What have I got to lose? Time? Hah! I’ll be lollygaggin my whole life, what’s a little more?