© 2012 Aaron Atkinson

(Not) Fishing in Philadelphia

Its a cool, clear summer night in a suburb north of Philadelphia. Three of us are riding in our rental car, fresh off the plane and headed for a late dinner. We coast to a stop at a red light in a shopping center. The streets are lined with young trees and decorative grasses. Our restaurant sits to our left, to our right there’s a store that deals in sporting goods. They must offer summer classes in outdoor activities, because in their parking lot stand 15 young men who are taking a fly-casting lesson.

My shotgun-riding coworker rolls down his window, leans his head out and yells, “You’re not going to catch anything fishing there!”

The pavement fishermen either didn’t hear, or they are too focused on their 10s and 2s to bother reacting.

But our driver wasn’t taking any chances. Using his driver-side controls, he rolled up the passenger-side window and then made it known that he was engaging the child-safety lock.

Post a Comment

Your email is never published nor shared. Required fields are marked *


You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>