The wasps poured down like rain and I was stung a half-dozen times before I knew what was going on, then at least four or five more before I could get out of the way.
The Old Men had mostly retired from running trotlines but were still a long way from giving up fishing. Fortunately, the chief sailor among them had accepted a pontoon boat and motor, complete with trailer, in payment for a welding job, so they could still go after catfish with as many hooks as they could wet which, as it turns out, was quite a lot.
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