West
Squatter Fodder
It was around 9:00 when our tired, insect-bitten legs hauled our fatigued bodies towards the abandoned railroad trestle bridge. Crossing earlier in the day had been difficult enough - many of the tracks were rotten, cracked or missing - but it was now dark, and the sliver of a moon shone only faintly through a humid layer of windswept fog. As we neared the colossal struts, we began to hear loud talk and laughter, and the clinking of beer bottles and cans down below. A quick look as we started over the bridge showed a few young rednecks using lights to catch fish that hid near the rusting columns. I had a golf ball in my hand that I'd been itching to throw - there's nothing wants to be thrown more than a golf ball. And so I waited 'till my friend was mostly across, then flung it down where it made a big splash next to them in the water.
"F*** YOU" a hill-country voice yelled over the water, "You D*** GAR!"
(He had mistaken the splash of the golf ball as an 'alligator gar,' a type of large, ugly fish.)
I chuckled a little, then yelled "YEeeeahhhh-hayyy!" in the hickest accent I could muster.
"Hey F*** you! Shut up, you're scarin' the fish!"
"SAVE YOUR CONFEDERATE DOLLARS, BOYS, THE SOUTH WILL RISE AGAIN!" I yelled.
We made it over the bridge with a lot of threats and thrown rocks and swear-words, and we both about fell of the bridge laughing.
"F*** YOU" a hill-country voice yelled over the water, "You D*** GAR!"
(He had mistaken the splash of the golf ball as an 'alligator gar,' a type of large, ugly fish.)
I chuckled a little, then yelled "YEeeeahhhh-hayyy!" in the hickest accent I could muster.
"Hey F*** you! Shut up, you're scarin' the fish!"
"SAVE YOUR CONFEDERATE DOLLARS, BOYS, THE SOUTH WILL RISE AGAIN!" I yelled.
We made it over the bridge with a lot of threats and thrown rocks and swear-words, and we both about fell of the bridge laughing.