The swamp sings its ancient song. The same song it has been singin’ since before my grandpappy’s grandpappy was born. Full of life and equally full of mystery. The sun filters down through the cypress trees and kisses my skin. I am home. I down a mudweiser and reflect on my match with that elusive bird, Raven while one of his corvid cousins peers at me from between the limbs of the trees.
Shit didn’t go my way at Attitude, a fact I can’t ignore, but perhaps not all was for naught. We came to an understandin’ of sorts. Two damn enigmas found some common ground. I may have made an ally in the winged one. Still though, the answers of what happened to me that day floatin’ along the creek like a bobber are no closer. My investigation continues. It seems that I’m still at square one.
Will my upcomin’ run-in with Bartholomew Finkle provide any clues? That remains to be seen, y’all.
I toss the empty can over my shoulder and pull a fresh one from the cooler. The top pops, I place it to my lips and tip it back, letting the golden liquid flow down my throat again.
Shit is delicious. Crisp and refreshing.
The buzz starts to kick in, my senses tamp down but my intuition sharpens. I didn’t come to OSW just to find answers but also to reignite my wrestlin’ career. So even if I don’t find any damn answers in that ring with Finkle, I at least got an opportunity to shake off that loss to Raven and show the people of Acadia who the hell Mud Mouth really is, the fact that I am going to be able to get hardcore is just icin’ on the dang cake.
I drain the last of that mudweiser before I pop the top on yet another and take a mighty swig.
Finkle might be the money man. He might have all the Supply and Demand, he might be a big fish in a small pond, but he don’t got what Clay Cypress has. He ain’t got the secret weapon when it comes to nettin’ a big ol’ largemouth like I got with my Spinnerbait Driver. Full of glitter and buzz and proven irresistible to even the deep, dark water lunkers. I’m all about that catch, baby.
I close my eyes and let the swamp song wash over me. I was born in these muddy waters. The swamp is my place of quiet contemplation. It’s in my bones, its in my blood, dawg. Allow me to take y’all on a fantastic, hardcore voyage and I promise y’all none will be disappointed.
You see, I can be a care bear or I can be a grizzly, what you get from me is up to you. I can be a real cool if you’re cool to me, but I promise you this, you disrespect me, Finkle, and I can guarantee that I will lose my southern hospitality.