THE PARK LARK

I've written a couple of stories about things that happened when I was running wild with a young guy called Jodi Malenger. I guess a lot of people doubt they're true and I'm not about to argue the point -- why bother? But since there's been quite a few readers who seem to enjoy them I'll recount another one.
 The scene is England, more years ago than I care to remember now. And again we'd gone wandering well away from our local area in Jodi's van. Well, the van that belonged to Jodi's Dad and that Jodi often borrowed.
 
 So, it was another town we were in, on a working day, and about as boring as you could imagine. Apart from everything else the sun was beating down out of a cloudless blue sky and everybody was as grumpy as hell. The English expect bad weather like New Yorkers expect rudeness -- it goes with the territory and anything else messes with their minds. Still, Jodi had put a shoulder bag inside the van and winked at us when he'd done it. The other four of us figured he must have something interesting planned, though we didn't know what it was. Anyway, while Jodi was driving Jacko opened up the bag and showed us what was stowed in it. And the contents of that bag had us scratching our heads alright.
 
 There were two paint brushes, brand new but cut off so there was only about an inch of hairs left on each handle. There were two identical copies of a newspaper -- well, 'The News Of The World', if you can call that a newspaper, and a net. Yes, a net. Made of very fine nylon cord, about eight feet by four feet, with mesh big enough for us to easily put our hands through the holes. Oh, and just to make everything clearer, when we opened up one of the big newspapers we found that around the sides of the center pages were long dressmakers' pins. There must have been a dozen of them in each paper, pinning all the pages together so it was impossible to turn them over. And, finally, there was a polaroid camera and three film packs.
 
 I guess Sherlock Holmes would have worked out straight away what Jodi was planning to do; none of us could though.
 
 "Jodi, what the hell is this lot for?" Jacko asked.
 
 "For fishing with; what else?"
 
 That's all he'd say though, not another word until we got to the town. A fair sized East Midlands market town. He parked the van at a supermarket car park. The car park was at one side of the building and the town center on the other side. But we didn't walk that way. Instead Jodi picked up his bag and went over a pedestrian bridge at the far end of the car park. The bridge was over a river which ran through the town.
 
 I guess it doesn't make much difference to the story but maybe I'd better mention that what might be called a river in the UK could hardly get a mention as a creek in the States. This river you could have spat across given a good following wind. Anyway we looked at Jodi's bag, thought about the net, looked down at the river and then at each other in bewilderment. We were a bunch that had never had any interest in hunting fur, fin or feathers. Big tits and juicy cunts were the only things we caught. What the hell was Jodi up to this time?
 

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