Hawkeye

A cold wind blew accros the grass of the expansive Montana property as rain clouds loomed in the not so far distance.

“Christ!”, Bolo thought, “it’s fucking August and I’m goddamn cold.”

He hadn’t been in Montana for over a year and had forgotten how much cooler it was here comparred to Colorado, even though it was technically summer.

“What’s the matter?” asked his fervent friend, Hawkeye. “Did you turn into a pussy down there in Colorado with the mild winter and 300 plus days of sun?”

He said it mockingly, as if he were regurgitating some cliche such as the dry-heat reference that every typical Arizonan used.

“Why don’t you eat a bowl of dick and throw me my fleece?”

“Fine, but let’s get going so we can get to the river and get fishing“, Bolo said, with a hint of contempt.

Though old friends, the two never took too long to reinvigorate each other and even more so, get after each other like an old married couple. True brotherhood, with implied rules and expressive disdain for one another.

Hawkeye still lived in Montana, where the two had grown up but a year before, Bolo had moved to Denver, Colorado for a career opportunity so it was only natural that his long time friend should catch some shit for abandoning ship, especially because he was now engaged to a gal from Denver and the possibility of him ever moving back to Helena or even Montana in general was slim if not impossible.

So off they drove headed north on I-15 headed towards the Missouri River to float the stretch between Craig and Stickny like so many times in their youth, but this time would be different.