“That float’s gone,” I said, staring at the spot where it had been bobbing moments before. It was just a normal evening of fishing by the lake with the boys—grill fired up, rods in the water, the usual nonsense flowing between us. We had plans for the next day: a full 48-hour session, maybe even a proper pizza night by the water. Then the float vanished.
“Where is it? ” one of them asked. “It was right there,” I pointed. “In the middle.
”
We all squinted at the water. Nothing. Then someone spotted it—way off to the side, drifting like it had been dragged. “That’s far from the bait,” I muttered.
We pulled the line in and checked it. The line wasn’t cut, but there was a rough edge around it, like something had bitten through the coating. A crab, probably. They were everywhere down there, millions of them, snatching at anything that sat still.
“I’m not building a whole boat setup for a five-euro float,” I said when someone suggested paddling out with the inflatable. We tried casting with a spinning rod, hoping to snag it. No luck. One of the guys joked about swimming after it, but nobody was actually going in that water.
“Maybe someone with a boat will come by,” someone said. “Not on a weekday. ”
We stared at the float some more, all of us quietly annoyed. Then, without warning, one of the guys grabbed the rod and cast again—right at the float.
It hit. The line tightened. The float came loose, and we pulled it back toward shore. “No way,” I laughed.
“He actually got it. ”
The others in the stream chat started lighting up, and the mood shifted. The float was back, the night was still young, and the grill was heating up. I grabbed the burger patties and laid them on the grate.
The smell of meat and charcoal drifted across the water. Someone asked if I wanted to cut the rolls. “Let’s get them out,” I said. I told them I’d been craving this all day.
The panade on the burger wouldn’t hold up great, but I didn’t care. I was eating it anyway. “You can hold it with your butt cheeks if you have to, I’ll still eat it,” I joked. The chat went wild.
Someone asked if I was sure I wanted to mention where I worked. “Why not? ” I said. “I work at a sewage plant.
”
Silence for a second, then everyone cracked up. The conversation drifted to my health. I’d had to give up meat and asparagus years ago, back in 2012. My body couldn’t break down certain proteins—it was like they turned into something that stuck in my muscles and joints, locking everything up.
“So you can’t eat meat at all? ” one of them asked. “The doctor told me to stop for ten years and try again. The ten years are almost up, but I’m not going back to that pain.
”
“But you’re still grilling for us? ”
“Of course,” I said. “That doesn’t stop me. ”
They pointed out that at least I lived in a time when vegan food was everywhere.
If this had been the eighties, I’d have been truly screwed. I told them I could pick and choose the things I gave up—some were worse than others. Meat was a loss, but there were worse things in life. The burger was coming along.
I flipped it, watched the cheese melt. Someone in the chat sent a tip, and I thanked them while fumbling around for the right tongs. “I grabbed the wrong ones,” I admitted. “Let me get another pair.
”
“You said you had more forks earlier too. ”
“I did. I brought them so I could turn the food. ”
“That’s what forks are for.
”
We laughed about it, kept the banter going. The evening wore on. The lake went dark around us, but the grill kept us lit. Someone mentioned a friend who’d visited on Saturday, and I remembered him vaguely.
“I have a terrible memory for names,” I said. “I’ll recognize him when I see him, just not right away. ”
The chat suddenly spammed with notifications. A new subscriber, a pile of bits, someone sending gifts.
“Ina, can you accept that? ” I called out. She said she’d handle it. I told her the invitation for the joint stream was coming through.
“It doesn’t matter which PC,” I said. “Just leave it on. ”
The rolls were out. The patties were done.
I put everything together and took a bite, grease running down my hand. “This is exactly what I needed,” I said. We kept eating, kept talking, kept the grill glowing against the night. Somewhere in the background, the float bobbed on the water again, ready for the next cast.
Tomorrow, we’d head back out and do it all over again—fishing rods, fire, and the same easy noise between friends.
