No Flies On Me

At left, an Adams-style fly that appears to have a wet hackle design.

Trout love these.

I'm back and hitting the text hard. My daughter was in town the last few days and she absorbed all my attention, as daughters usually do. I don't get to see her much so that is no complaint about the attention.

I've also been to Art Prize -- a contest in Grand Rapids, Michigan -- to see some wonderful pieces.

I bought some flies tonight for a fish trip in a couple of weeks, read a little Hemingway, and solved a cat feeder problem which was leading to a cat "self-feeding" as a growing problem.

I have to write a diner scene in the next day or so. A hard case is on the trail of my protagonists and they surprise the fellow by joining him for breakfast in a Detroit diner. I can't do anything cheap as in rob a scene from any number of movies.

I'm thinking of having the owner on a stool by the cash register call my protagonists Mr. Wonderful and Ms. Beautiful when the enter.

I used to go to a restaurant where Mrs. Wong would call me Mr. Wonderful when she saw me. I miss the place. Family sold and moved to the gulf. Chef Wong taught Nixon and crew about formal Chinese cuisine for the China trip. Can't beat that sort of food. Wonderful people.

"You'll get me if you reach for it, Bobby," Winston said across the table. "Clean - too. You're a professional bad guy, after all. It's what you do. I haven't got much hope."

He buttered the toast with the edge of the knife and butter barely glazed the crumb. 

 "But Pete over there will open you with the cobra he's holding under the cash register. If he misses, the boys at table eight eat breakfast on me every morning. A white man in a suit like you ... in here? You'll never eat another waffle." 

Bobby smiles.  

"They got that berry syrup here. You ever try that?" Winston asked.