Talkin' Shit About A Pretty Sunset

Just returned from my "Celebration of Life Weekend" which turned out to be more of a "Celebration of Rain and Wind Weekend". No, seriously, I had a freaking blast. And by "blast" I mean I slept no more than three hours at a time and drank alcohol often starting at 9:00AM.

We stopped for a day at Hoopers Island (see previous post). There was a local old man tending his soft shelled crabs. He had five large, flat tanks with plastic pipes running over them dispensing water. We walked over to him with our fleece jackets and yellow plastic rain coats looking very yuppie. He was friendly and showed us how he takes care of his crabs.

A couple of hours later my friend Chris walks over wearing a hooded sweatshirt and scraggly beard. As the crab-tender spots Chris, he casually opens his pick-up truck door and pulls out a shotgun. He rests it against a shack nearby and stands there looking at him as Chris picks up his pace and moves.

In rural Maryland, don't even think about fucking with the soft-shelled crabs. You do, you'll have buckshot up yer ass, boy.

That is, unless you look like a friendly yuppie. I never knew yuppies and old rednecks would make such good bed fellows.

Who knew?