A Granite Coast Conversation

"I knew you knew who I was."
"I've heard you on the radio. And I was fishing when you did your concert on the sand beach."
"So why we in this old boat?"
"It was Ma Bertie's boat. The place knows it."
"You sayin' the place don't like my ride?"
"That's right. It doesn't like your ride or your music."
"I'm a player, man. Come on. I got you. Your girl not here, I got a girl for you. You don't like rap, I got a fiddle. My boat got everything. What you wanna eat, what you wanna drink, whatever makes you comfortable. How this better than that?"
"You see those rocks there?"
"I ain't blind."
"They're really old. They've been there quite a while. Three hundred and fifty million years at least."
"So what, man?"
"So stop talking. I can't explain. You have more words. You're lots more clever. I'm just a kid. So let's just drift. That's all I got."
So they just drifted. The wind was light. The current was slight. The rocks began to talk. At least as far as Noah was concerned. And he wasn't about to try to persuade Busta Moove to believe that they did. Something in him wanted the strange and famous visitor to be his friend. Something else said whatever. And it was the rocks. And he was used to listening to the rocks.

19 March 2026
Texas Jim
Rogues Roost, Nova Scotia