Nick and his buddy show up at the old man's place in the woods.
They drink and play cards while the storm rages outside and the fire is kept going. Nothing happens really and nothing rarely does. After the storm, morning looks like fine weather, maybe some fishing or hunting. The end.
The conversation wonders around a young romance that has broken up with a proper good girl. Very cold stuff about a once upon a time America that no longer exists and nobody cares about. Nick tries to pretend it isn't over stuck on wishful thinking about pussy.
As a late teen, I really identified with this story because of its latent sexual repression, drinking, vague art thoughts, the whole nine yards, the central position of sports in a young man's life.
I had been on fishing trips with my cousin, drank our father's booze, and talked that grand teen talk in the wood smoke rooms of rented cabins. Maybe we'll get lucky Lee and catch the big one that lives in Silver Lake I saw once, swimming close to the bottom of the clear water. It looked at least the size of the stuffed one in the tackle store.These trophies came from the 1920s-30s before we were born.
Well, it's a damned shame the storm doesn't arrive on a work day. Fuck the Capitalists.
Here's hoping it hits AIG and Goldman and blows out their windows...
CG
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