the sun came out. By brunchtime we'd salved and shaved our legs, stitched up an eyebrow, and assigned one apiece of a sixer.
The woman unrolled the newspaper again, and peeked at it like it was an umbilical cord. Flipped over the stuck together pages. Pronounced, "It's drier."
Blonde curly came out a path with two big bass on a stick. "I can do anything I put my mind to," she quietly spoke the mantra.
The man had a twelve pack of his own to last the week. And was down to four. "Then what are you gonna do?" The woman would like to know. His belly hanging out of his tee-shirt 'cuz he was sliding down the slope of the fishing hole shook with laughter. "Oh she does does she?"
"I think I should be the one," the mama tweezed the tweezers in the air. The man made like he was running away. The soggy papers were sunbathing on the picnic table. The man stuttered, "Don't know what your plans might be," he blushed and looked at the water, "But it's bigger than that." She put the tweezers in her jacket pocket. "Let's not go in that direction," she said.
The man perused the table. Ate two spoonfuls of baked beans. Then asked, "What's a two-spirit person?"
"It's a sacred Native American thing."
"Never heard of it."
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