The Scout couldn’t remember the last time he was well and truly looking forward to going somewhere. He was so excited at the thought of just getting way for several days that he had gone into town the next morning despite the mild hangover that he had. Starch and beer never went too well with him. While it had been years since his last fishing venture the memory of what he might need was still relatively fresh.
With a tackle box in one hand and a cooler in the other–filled with beer no doubt–he made his way to the Sniper’s camper. The extra weight of the stuffed rucksack made the trek difficult, but it didn’t slow him down once the vehicle was in sight. Approaching the door he immediately set the cooler aside and knocked, all the while maintaining a grin that practically beamed beneath a khaki fishing hat dotted with lures and all.
He knew he looked silly, but really couldn’t care less.