“It’s a flounder. We’ve a caught a few today. We’re starting to catch them now, it’s high tide. You get a lot of good flounder in the Hudson. You get a lot of flounder at high tide.”
“We’ve been here about two hours. We’ve been using worms. We’ve only have these two poles. ”
Fishing poles aligned the pier, lashed to the rails as the fishermen waited. Cotton ball clouds float above the river and the isle of Manhatto. Like a flurry of incandescent splinters, sunlight flickers across the water. Sail boats glide by. The river invites a lazy, easily interrupted introspection. High tide on a sunday afternoon in August along the Hudson. The day passes slowly on the Exchange Place pier. We realize summer will not last forever then immediately forget that thought.
“Look he caught a fish,” she says to her friend.
“Make a pretty good dinner, except for coming from the Hudson. I wouldn’t eat anything from this river, I don’t care how clean they say it is.”
“Right! Me neither. No way.”
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