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My brother drives over to show me the fly rod he won by catching the tagged 28-inch brown trout in Settler's Gorge. He skated a caddis fly across the length of stream -- and just when he had given up hope, the trout pasted it. Bam!
A shellacked bamboo rod, very old school, the kind the pioneers of fly fishing must've used. Actually, he says, he came over to see if I'd buy it from him. He tells me it sells for eleven hundred, but I can give him whatever I think it's worth.
I hadn't seen him for awhile, after our mother died, falling down stairs, drunk. I'd refused to pay the $15,000 for another rehab. What the fuck are you going to do with money, my brother had screamed at me. Anything but that, I'd told
him.
NEXT
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