Call her ZADDY

That bird had no business dying

           It was barely 8:00 a.m and Mick had already smoked half a pack of cigarettes by the time his tiny truck rolled down the ramp towards the local  boat harbor. His normally sturdy body felt jittery as he pulled into the parking lot and fumbled with his clutch.  From there he grumbled while removing his keys before Stepping into the harsh morning air, squinting his eyes into the sunlight. As he walked through the parking lot his flip flops got caught In a tangle of  fishing wires, causing him to accidentally kick over a faded orange bucket on the side of the curb. Yet all the while he still managed to  hold onto his cigarette, making sure not to spill his cup of piping hot tea.

Mick's fishing buddies were all die-hard black coffee drinkers, so his English tea would be the first of many things sure to piss everyone on the crew off this morning. With the tangled fishing wire behind him he was able to now smile at his next potential disruption.  Sighing happily , he took a hot sip.

As he descended the docks , Mick reveled in the fact that no matter what he did, he always managed to rock the boat. Glancing toward the water below him Mick didn't bother to look to deeply at his own murky reflection; he only knew he like to pee in the pool and make waves. 

Why did he get away with things so easily? He thought to himself. The answer was simple. He was a fucking blast and he knew it. Ever since he was a child he could remember harnessing the fuck out of humor and fun. It was basically his part time job. He was a god damn Rhode scholar of fun. Even that day as he approached his salty old boat caption, Mick noticed the crabby man smiling at the sight of him. He simply could not be unfunny.

              Looking over at the fish blocks lined with freshly caught tuna and snapper Mick  inhaled the bloody air , feeling satisfied. He loved fishing more than anything I the world. Deep see fishing. Fly fishing. Spear fishing. It was all a rush. More than alcohol. More than drugs. More than women. Maybe even more than sex. He liked hunting too back in the day. Mick was only five years old when he had hit his first target.

               It happened to him by surprise one day while he was play shooting a bebe gun out of his bedroom window. After a round of pellets he had surprised himself by hitting a small bird in a tree five feet away. Mick could vividly see himself full of childhood boyish wonder, running outside to the front yard only to find the bird laying broken and bloody in the street.  As he inhaled his cigarette, he looked off towards the horizon watching a seagull fly by, where the cruelty of that birds short life still managed to catch him off guard.

"That bird had no business dying," Mick said to himself bitterly before tossing his cigarette into the ocean and stepping aboard.