I came in from the woodshop around three, marched into the studio and told Jill we were leaving in thirty minutes for a beer and an early dinner. Other than a few quick side trips, we had been working non-stop for months. A couple of hours sitting at the bar at one of our favorite spots was a needed break. It would also give us a chance to pencil out some details on a project we have in the works. And the Bruins were playing.
It was a rainy Sunday, and the lot was nearly full. We got lucky and found two seats at the corner of the bar. We ordered beers and started scribbling ideas on napkins and talked about making the time to get the project going in between filling orders in the studio, working on fly orders, yard work and all the other things that needed to be done. Losing momentum, I ordered another beer and excused myself to the men's room.
As I approached the door, I heard a voice behind me say something about fly fishing. I turned as I held the door and saw a vaguely familiar guy wearing the Patagucci/Costa/Xtratuf uniform complete with a buff. He paused in the doorway as he told me his name and I pretended to already know it. Unfortunately, both urinals were available. I took my place at one and prepared myself for conversation as he stood in front of the sinks looking back and forth between his phone screen and himself in the mirror.
"I heard you quit fly tying."
"Nope, still tying. Just not as much."
"I didn't see you at the shows this winter."
"Nope, didn't go."
"You still fishing?"
"Yup, quite a bit. A lot of freshwater, actually."
"You must fish a lot if you're not tying, huh?"
"I've got a few projects going on terra firma that keep me busy, so I don't get as much water time as I used to."
At this point I finished my business and walked over to the sink as he took his place at a urinal. He kept talking.
"Terra Firma, where's that, Chile?"
"Um, yeah, technically."
"Cool."
I dried my hands with a paper towel and turned to bid him farewell. He was standing there scrolling through his phone with his non-business hand. I had to admire his dexterity.
"I'm on your Instagram page. You don't post much."
"Nope."
"How come, dude? You must have a lot of fish porn on your phone."
"I just fish. I'll see you later, Chief."
I took a step through the door, back toward my beer and anonymity.
"Hey, man, do you still write?"
I smiled.
"I will be."
From the bar
21 April 2023
