Gone Fishin’

The scent of salt and wet earth hangs in the air. The river laps softly against the rocks, patient, indifferent. Apartment lights tremble across the surface. Flatheads ghost somewhere below, tucked into the mud, wide-skulled and low-slung in the dark. Ferries hum around the tree-lined bend and muffle into the distance.

It’s late. Too late to be out. Too cold to be comfortable. An impulsive hangout, restless from days spent clocking in and out, chasing deadlines, pretending urgency means importance. The constant refresh of a feed, the frantic stacking of one more project onto a leaning pile. Finally, this is our rest.

We sit low, wedged into gaps in the rock, shoulders leaning into each other. Borrowed rods balanced between our fingers, lines disappearing into the dark like quiet questions.

Cast. Wait. Reel.

We crack open our lives and lay them out like the evening news. Someone spills about a stupid romantic encounter and we’re already giggling, gasping, demanding details. We make half-serious prayers to lock in this year. To get rich. To get out. We riff on who we were last year. Blurry. Awkward. And who we’re trying to be now. Softer. Steadier. Maybe a little wiser.

The river laps at the rocks, faint as breath.

Cast. Wait.

The silence settles until it feels like part of the group. No one rushes to fill it. We stare into the black water, waiting for something to move. Waiting for something to tug back.

Thoughts drift in without permission. Things I need to do. Things I want to be. The strange distance between the two.

The line shivers. It’s just the current.

Seaweed surfaces instead of glory. The hook returns empty, dripping. Mullets flick silver tails beyond reach, clever and untouchable. The line snags on something unseen. For a second, maybe this is it.

It isn’t.

We fumble with the knots, fingers stiff, numb. Laughing, swearing, untangling the same mess over and over. Threads cross themselves. Plans knotting. A horizon refusing to take shape, an unwritten distance of unclaimed luck and sudden swells. Just wanting a sign that we aren't reeling away at a fishless lake.

“I could go for a burger and thickshake right now,” someone sighs.

We all groan in agreement. Early morning and responsibilities calling. Versions of ourselves waiting at home. And still, we cast again.

Wait. Reel.

Cold bites at our fingers and noses. The city keeps its distance.

Wait.

Then the line jerks.

Water bursts. Hands scramble. Something small and silver thrashes at the end, alive and unbelievable. We stare, suspended between disbelief and joy.

“Wait… ew. Is that a fish?”

Models: Hayden Chan, Alyssa Damara, Tiffany Lac, Adrian Li, Hansen Marudai, Jasmin Muhidin, Jessica Nuguid,  Luisa Pulie, Hana Ravel, Carlos Vaskquez.