" Don't generate fantasies."The phone rang again."Hi, daddy. No, we just finished lunch. Of course you can come this afternoon. The way you drive, you'll be here by four. Oh, she won't let you? Then you'll be here by five. OK. We'll have catfish for dinner. See you later." Well?" He went fishing this morning a caught four catfish — Mary say's they're cobblers. He's filletted them and Mary's put them in an ice chest. They'll be leaving soon, but Mary doesn't let him drive fast. Can you imagine? My daddy not driving fast. I used to think we went driving so he could hear me scream." Cobblers are tandanus bostocki -- they're catfish that run up to half a metre in length. They're probably as good to eat as any other cat." Do you bread them?" I'd use seasoned maize flour or cornmeal. Do we have enough cooking oil?" Yes." Great. Can I get in an hour's reading?" Men!"I did read for a bit. I had barely 50 more pages left of Seven Kinds of Ambiguity. It was certainly strange, but it gripped me. The road was almost deserted, which was unusual for a Saturday night, but the weather had been turning a little cold lately. In fact, Barry had seen Stacy shivering a little earlier while they had been walking out of the restaurant. He had noted that she was dressed quite lightly for November. Even this far south, the weather began to cool down by this time of the year.Twenty minutes later, Barry had parked the car in a suitably secluded spot; there had been no one else on the road for the last three miles. The night fell briefly silent as the car engine was shut off, but the sound of the breakers crashing against the shoreline quickly became apparent as the two teenagers sat for a few moments in awkward silence. Barry was too nervous to start anything, and Stacy just sat there, staring out over the dark, black water.Barry could take it no longer. "Well..." He started to say something, but was interrupted by the feel of Stacy's hand against his. His throat constricted and his heart.
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