The Last of It

Uncle Terry woke to find his last cigarette had burned his index and middle fingers and a bluegill had worked his worm off the hook. He reeled in his line and hooked it into the bottom eyelet of his rod before picking up the box of Miller High Life and making his way across the lawn to the house, the empty bottles clinking in time with his steps. The sun had started to go down and the bugs had started to come out, mostly harmless swarms of black flies with the occasional horsefly circling his head. Uncle Terry placed the rod beside the back door and stepped inside, pausing for a moment to consider the sun disappearing over the tree line before locking the door behind him. The empty bottles in the recycling bin, he settled into his favorite chair and closed his eyes.