Pete

Off the port bow a whale shark broke the surface, polka dots streaming through the water. “You got a plankton lure?” chuckled Betty. Harold rustled through his tackle box, confused. “Plankton! What the hell’s that mean, anyway?” he grumbled. “It’s real small,” she offered. “Brine shrimp size, Number 14 hook.” She up-ended her Corona, tossed the bottle toward the head of the 30-foot leviathan. It landed with a splash.

Ray

FAWN KNUTSEN’s naked silhouette in the doorway, briefly illuminated in backlight by sunbeams penetrating her thin calico dress, sends Bronski into limbo. The cheap brown liquor burns, but he dares not swallow, nor lower the smudged empty glass from his lips. As Fawn promenades across the soft neon glow of Large Lena’s Ka-Boom Room towards him, their eyes entwine. With a spit take, Bronski collapses akimbo in rapture.