by Harris Krinsky

In late April, I fished the Delaware River in the Catskill Mountains. My friend, Carlo, Maggie, my Miniature Schnauzer, and I drove five hours from Boston. We were meeting Chippy D. at the West Branch Angler in Deposit, New York. You could hear the river flow from our cabin porch.

Carlo is a Day Trader whose longtime girlfriend left him. She took everything: the house, the car, the bank accounts, etc. Even though she dropped the bomb months ago, Carlo was still enormously distraught. The drive was a little disturbing. When he wasn’t peering into his Blackberry or smoking Marlboros, Carlo was staring blankly into space occasionally muttering obscenities or grunting.