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