We would crack open some beers and have our dinner, not thinking about how those Sundays were flowing past us, steadily and irretrievably, like the current of the river.

I peered into its placid, bulging eyes. I knelt by the water’s edge, feeling the mud seeping through the knees of my jeans. I gently lowered the fish into the water and released my grip.

CATFISH BY JOE GRECO

34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 11

I.

Ray and I swim deep in the dark water, our soft bellies gently skimming the silt of the riverbed. I hear only the…

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