we are visiting a guy who didn't recieve his papers. Calendar show that something was planned for a Saturday in April 26. Judging by stuff that he left at the door, he obviously went for fishing.
I wonder how this guy feel, who once went for a fishing trip and who was not able to return home. It is like you life is cut on two pieces. in one is you slippers still under you bed, photos of a first love that left on piano.. in other is you yourself, you memories and a fishing rod.
