8 : MOUTH OF TIME
We went too far, which for me is always just far enough, past Vessel Services, past where I saw the wharf rat & osprey & seal pair, down to the unknown, unnamed pier, where a boat I didn’t even take eponymous note of unloaded bucket after bucket of fish. It was anachronistic. Here, through the normal series of winches they’d drop the load upon a conveyer tray, where as fast as the hand of man inherited from generations of handling this species, back to Cro-Magnon, at least, they picked the best, dumped the rest. Right there on the dock, through a big hole: trash fish from the by-catch! If that’s not a sin, I don’t know what is, what with three Asians, two youths, one middle-aged woman, & two older white guys, diagonally, in full-view of the waste, casting humble rods out into grey-scum-topped water for a single mackerel, blue, or striper. Hundreds fish lost to the anonymity of Eternity to one pulled up to the mouth of Time.
y o n d T i m e b y R o b e r t G
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