Cape Cod Redux

Twenty eight years ago I left Cape Cod in disgrace. Brad Hill was my buddy and he got into a scrape involving a local girl and the son of a powerful road contractor. He was advised by the police to get out of town. Our landlady kicked us out of the room because we disobeyed her edict not to sit out on the balcony overlooking the main street of Chatham and drink beers. And frankly I was sick of my job in the fish store shucking clams and cleaning fish. I took my kids back to see the site of my former glory days. They actually got excited about the Chatham pier and the boats and sea gulls and tourists. There were some seals in the water but we couldn't get a good photo of them. Two old guys on bicycles - they looked like old gay lovers, but one also bore an uncanny resemblance to Willard Nickerson, my former boss at the fish store, who if he was gay did a good job hiding it, (he constantly nagged me about my poor posture and the only reason he hired me in the first place is my Aunt Alicia and Uncle Wright were old family in Chatham, but I liked him and his wife), sat next to us on the bench in front of the store while we ate fish and chips with fresh fish, you bet your bass, and offered to take this picture.