old masset

The line cook of the fish restaurant in Old Masset returned from meeting his sister in the parking lot, as the rest of the staff were busy closing for the night. “My sister is so high right now,” he said gleefully to his colleagues in his heavy Italian accent.

During this prolonged closing period, the staff gradually convened on the porch to smoke and take in a brief quell in the rain. The younger ones shared a joint amongst themselves, while the older staff sat by the door and smoked tobacco. Children floated by on clunking bikes, and the town dogs started joining into packs to visit the town restaurants as they closed. During this time, some hitchhikers sat in the background drying wet clothes and camping gear in the corner.

The next morning after sleeping in an abandoned waterfront lot, the hitchhikers hollered and hooped down the road out of Old Masset into New Town. Their hollers and hoops turned into shouts and jeers as the hitchhikers started arguing among themselves. They were saved from each other by an old woman who shortened their walk and drove them into town directly.

The hitchhikers were well-to-do children from a nice town south. They carried this attitude with them as their garb got drabber and their hair greasier. With their town mentality, they were initially wary of the strangers they met on the road, not realizing that they were the strangers and the town was wary of them.