And whistling, I gazed at the lovely “collected” maps and beyellowed documents, and arranged them in the compartments of my chest, carefully laying the button, wrapped in tissue paper, with the rest.

A born pier fisherman was a totally different kind of breed from a surfcaster or a boat fisherman.

He passed up my invitation for dinner, saying he was too busy

Ah, twitterpation: that state of ephemeral bliss we all have such an awkward relationship with.