night time fishing
On the sandstone slabs old nets and broken boats can be leftover art. Or a drunk seaman's droppings. Maybe both. Look closer for the brands. It’ll be hard to see on such a night. Sniff the air and a whiff of burnt hazelnut will be there. Its the old man in a rocker. Smoke billowed from his long gold pipe. A white beard hid his lips. The turban kept his hair a secret. Shades protected his eyes. Sheets cloaked his body. Sandals revealed his toes and a long used fishing pole is gripped from blowing away as the westbound wind wheezed by. The swing door behind the man shook. The building he rocked against was tall and built like a chapel. Why anyone would build so close to the waterbank baffled any onlooker. Muted drums & riff beats came from within the structure. Strings and horns flowed out a pitch louder. Laughter interpolated. Hurried footsteps pitter-pattered outside the door. Guzzles echoed from the incoming traffic’s throats. Desperate last slurps of the crowd’s pre-game rituals, allowed with a half-hearted waves by the elderly doorman.
Above the town, the crescent moon glared. Beyond the town, coyotes howled. Snakes hissed like harmonicas. Owls hooted. Trees stretched out like scarecrows and casted shadows. Their prickly green splashed well with the night cold tropic floor. For on the other end of the villa there was only rocky burgundy shorelines and blue. It startled the eye. But, it flared the nostrils. The last entre of the night took to the air and the hair on the back of Rei-Rei's neck stood. Her own pole wavered in her hands and a bit and sat back up at attention, refocusing on her own efforts to catch dinner. Handwraps gloved her palms. Life had kept those hands busy. They had touched, grabbed, torn, ripped and held. Now, idle, they held a stick with a string attached into the deep blue. It had been a whole six hours since she enjoyed her last paid for meal and she was itching for supper. The sea was her last resort. Nevermind the shappy little inn behind the old man. She was so disperate to try and steal a meal... or was she?
When her eyes opened to the old man, he was staring over at her with a small and a nod. How dare he?! She turned her attention full blown to the waters out before her, determined to catch something and prove her self-sustainability. Although she could not see his eyes behind his dark shades, he had the look of someone who liked to lecture and render sagely advice; two things the skypiean wanted nothing to do with.
“Not a whole lotta bothering goin' on with the fish tonight, eh,” the words dripped like lava from his lips.
A reassured nod and sigh was returned to him. The man - the innkeeper as far as she could tell - had heavy feet. He lifted the girth of him and turned and trotted in. The thud of the swing door echoed night in return. The abandoned chapel was haunted with the stench of fun. Smokes swept over the seating area. Dropped pills were crumbled by footsteps along the floor. Darkness swept over, only interrupted by flashes of neon lights from above. A disco ball swirled about and illuminated. Within the clutter of young flesh sprawled from wall to wall was the mummed smacking of lips for sloppy kisses. A bartender set up by the old confession booth smirked at his limping customers. On stage a karaoke set up rocked. But, over at the ledge of the water Rei-Rei was as quiet as a mouse.
She was here for food.
"Tch... asshole."
Last edited by Raza on Sat Oct 24, 2015 3:15 pm; edited 2 times in total