My father was amazed that squid fishermen still frequented the shore at low tide.
‘They see the light, they go for it,’ his friend said.
Mambuto eyed the amber lamps held up by the stick figured men in the dark. ‘Was I the squid to her light?’ he slurred.
His friend laughed. ‘If anything you were a couple of squid caught in the same net together.’
Mambuto too a swig of his bottle, wiped his mouth, and smiled. ‘She loved this stuff.’
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