get sucked up and drawn into it. It was overwhelming in size and choked you with its brilliance.
I’d never seen it before.
“I got this off my last old lady. I’ll have to tell you that story sometime. But with this
monster I really am going to make the sun flash off her gills. Then I’m going to enjoy a show,
some good food, some good dancing, and when we get back to her place—dessert. Then when
she’s fast asleep—I’ll clean her out—take everything I gave her and enough loot to keep me
flush in Boston through Christmas. So you don’t expect to see me for a while. I’ll be lying low,
but if you’re lucky you might get to read about me. And when you do, remember, it’s all on
account of the story. It’s like that old boy said, the story’s the thing that makes you a king.”
He was right. I read about him a week later. I was leaving the drugstore and saw the paper
at the newsstand. “Man Pulled From River” was the headline, and his face was on the front page.
They’d found him in his suit floating face up. There were no marks on him, and his shoes were
still laced up. His bow tie was untied, but still wrapped around his neck. A woman came forward
claiming to be a witness. She said she saw him staggering drunk towards the pier one night. She
said he mumbled something about going fishing. She said he didn’t have a fishing rod with him.
They didn’t mention his hat. It’s a shame. I liked that boater.
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