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A VOICE I stepped down to the landing then saw the beer cans and the trash. I'd hoped the slobs weren't fishermen. But my sinking heart burned in a flash. Cigarette wrappers and fast food containers laid dew covered on the ground. I'd hoped the slobs weren't fishermen. Fishermen wouldn't leave this mess around. Burning embers of a campfire smoldered the departed party had left behind. I'd hoped the slobs weren't fishermen. But smoke yet left signals too unkind. Who could have left a mess like this? I wish I knew which slobs to thank. I'd hoped the slobs weren't fishermen. Than saw a 'worm can' lying on the bank. Among debris and scattered litter laid a tangled ball of fishing line. I'd hoped the slobs weren't fishermen. "They weren't" a voice rang in my mind. |
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