Welp, starting next month (wnenever the first striped bass begin showing up this far north) this ruddy cheeked old succubus will have to get used to seeing me happily navigating the pathway through her precious rock field with a surf rod in hand. I figure I’ll usually be arriving right as shes sitting down to enjoy that day’s early morning glass of breakfast scotch and the first of 5000 chain smoked Marlboro lights. I feel like this woman probably smells like a distinctive bouquet of mothballs and dollar store perfume, with a strong top note scent reminiscent of the very bottom layer of an overflowing ashtray.