Judging Books by Covers by Mark Usyk
So I torture myself all the same, like most people do, reading about the places others go in search of fish and grand views of the wild. And I lie to myself, telling myself that if I’d just buckle down and save some money, that I could be on a plane next year, fly rod tubes in the overhead compartments, fly boxes tucked in between neatly folded clothes in a small suitcase. I tell myself this lie as I hear the wind flapping shingles on the roof overhead, knowing we’ll need a new roof this year. Roofs, if you don’t know, take money. At least as much as what I could spend on several plane tickets. My wife and neighbors see tar and stone glued together in a green shade that matches the house siding laying on the lawn after the wind takes its toll. As I’m on the roof nailing down new shingles that don’t match, I don’t see nails piercing shingles. I see myself nailing a ticket to South America down.