One day the two old geezers were fishing off the end of a decrepit boat dock, a new sport for these guys, used as they were in their younger years to power games such as tennis, ping-pong, racquetball, golf, wrestling, parachuting, mountain climbing.
Fishing is for the birds, said the Mick.
Yes, replied the Frog, fishing is for women.
And yet, they sat there on the rotting boards, each leaning on the piling between them.
Across the river and through the trees, said the Frog.
And a river runs through it, added the Mick.
And yet, the spring day was warm, blooming dog flowers lining the bank, and the river ran fast with spring run-off.
You know, said the Frog, I miss my mother.
Me too, said the Mick, I miss my mother, and my father.
Me too, said the Frog.
And so, on this quiet soft day early in spring, the fishing went on, the two friends held their poles faithfully, neither man minding the bait, or the hook, or the occasional tug on the line.