ROAD RAGE ON I-89

A filthy SUV had pulled up next to him. Its original color was unrecognizable, as it looked like the car hadn’t been washed since last February and it was now nearing the end of July. There were distorted stickers on the windshield and bumpers of the Tahoe, and a little American flag attached to the radio antennae. A man wearing a bandanna with the knot tied on his forehead glared down at Nate from the passenger seat. He looked like he too possibly hadn’t been washed since February. His glare turned to a sneer, and he motioned for Nate to roll down his window.

THE MOONSTONE

Then I noticed the moon. Larger than usual, it was resting at a peculiar angle, right on the horizon and donning a bright orange hue. It seemed to be nearing its fullest state, a waxing gibbous four or five days away from its climax. Why the strange angle though? And why the orange hue?

BLUEFISH AT POINT LOOKOUT

Waves lapped at the side of the skipjack as the captain maintained his course straight ahead until the lighthouse was the size of a penny in the skipjack’s peripheral. The families became farther and fewer as they drew nearer the fishing pier, but one sight drew Aaron’s eye to the base. About ten to fifteen blue containers were lined up some fifty feet back from the coastline. A group of men were standing behind them. As they got closer, Aaron could see that the men were dumping fishnets into the containers, half of which seemed to be already overflowing.

THE MAGNIFYING GLASS

Mikey’s eyes glinted mischievously. He hadn’t even been trying to fry bugs, but it was getting boring studying mushrooms. He glanced over at Aaron. He doubted his little brother even knew what ‘frying bugs’ meant. The kid wasn’t even allowed to watch PG movies without their mother watching. Mikey glanced back at the house. The silhouettes in the window had vanished.