That is just what I
need, Peter thought, a spark to go off inside my head.
"You know, boy," Byron said, shaking out the match, "I like you."
He inhaled on the pipe, regarding Peter for a moment.
"Thanks," Peter said. "You're a good guy, too."
"That's what my wife tells me," Byron said, exhaling a cloud of
blue smoke. "You and I ought to take a float out on this baby,"
he said, poking his pipe at his boat, the "Net Work." He sat
down, dangling his feet above the low tide, and Peter sat down
beside him. "Listen, I'm gonna tell you something, and I want you
to promise me you'll think about it. Okay?"
"Sure."
"You're a bright fella. But you're walking around like a little
boy who lost his old dog and hates the world for it," he said.
Peter exhaled, his breath forming a faint mist in the cool air,
and looked down into the water.
"Son, everything dies. It's how life goes on. Your pooch, he's
gone. It's time to go pick a new puppy, and train it, and love
it, and make it great."
"That's easy for you to say. You've done it all and it lasted
longer for you, most of your life, and you have a wife now and
you're happy."
"Poppyshit!" Byron said. "Do you think the 990 was the only thing
I ever did with ICP? No way. I did all sorts of things with them,
but the difference is that I stayed on board, and times were
different then.
Pages:
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245