On this morning’s early walk on the beach, Donna sees a guy fishing and makes a bee line for him. “Where you going?” I ask. “To ask him what he is trying to catch,” she says. I mumble under my breath so she can’t hear, “Probably fish.” She chats him up for a few minutes while I try unsuccessfully to capture a photo of a pelican silhouetted by the the rising sun. When she asks him if the beach is always this uncrowded he tell her it is on weekdays from May to December.
To paraphrase someone: a stranger to Donna is only a friend she hasn’t met yet.