Fishing 3. Fishing Jack began to reel in his line. The sun directly overhead, warm, and feeling so good after what he had been told was a tougher than usual Cherringham winter. Not much by NYC standards, he thought. “You know, Riley, I'm beginning to lose faith that there are any fish in this river at all.” Riley lay at Jack’s feet. Upon hearing his name, the Springer Spaniel raised his head, and looked up almost — Jack thought — as if asking for more explanation. “Same bait as always. Hooks, lures, and still nothing. Strange, hmm boy?” Truth is, Jack didn't mind that he had no bites. More often than not, if he did catch something — and he wasn't looking for a fish dinner — he’d throw the reprieved fish — usually roach — back into the river. Though once he did catch a trout. That he knew he would never throw back. No, for him, fishing was more about sitting somewhere quiet, concentrating on something simple. My form of meditation, he thought. Pretty much perfect as it is — fish or no fish.
What do You think about Cherringham--The Vanishing Tourist (2015)?
