Drop Bait On Water Crossword Clue Puzzle Answers

When one of us said the word "drowned, " we all climbed down to pull Tom-Su from the water. After we finished our doughnuts, we strolled to the back wharf of the Pink Building, dropped our gear, unrolled our drop lines, baited hooks, and lowered the lines. "Tom-Su have small problem, Mr. Dick'son, " she said, and pointed to her temple with a finger.

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Drop Fish Bait Lightly Crossword Clue

Tom-Su walked with his eyes fastened to every crosstie at his feet. We brought Tom-Su soap and made him wash up at the public restroom, got him a hamburger and fries from the nearby diner, and walked him back to the boxcar. After he'd thoroughly examined our goods, he again checked our faces one by one. Tom-Su wrapped his hand around the fish, popped the hook from its mouth like an expert, and took the fish's head straight into his mouth. We had our fishing to do. In his house once, with his father not home, we opened the fridge and saw it packed wall to wall with seaweed. We searched for him along the waterfront for what felt like a day, but came up empty. Kim watched the taxi head down the street and out of sight. Drops in water crossword. Early on we stopped turning our heads to look for him closing from behind. His eyes focused and refocused several times on the figure at the end of the wharf.

Drop Of Water Crossword

Why do you bite the heads off the fish when they're still alive? When he saw a few of us balancing eagle-armed on a thin rail, he tried it and fell right on his backside. He had no idea that the faces in front of him had fascination written all over them, not to mention more than a crumb of worry. Mrs. Kim had a suitcase by her side and a bag on her shoulder; she spoke quietly to Mr. Kim, but she was looking up the street. Maybe it was mean of us, but we didn't put any bait onto his hook that day. Drop of salt water crossword. It was also where Al Capone was imprisoned many years ago. Sometimes, as an extra, we got to watch the big gray pelicans just off the edge of Berth 300 headfirst themselves into the wavy seawater, with the small trailer birds hot on their tails, hoping to snatch and scoop away any overflow from the huge bills. Tom-Su spun around like an onstage tap dancer rooted before a charging locomotive, and looked at us as if we weren't real. The railroad tracks ran between Harbor Boulevard and the waterfront. The fog had lifted while we were down below, and the sun had bleached the waterfront. We went home fishless. The father mostly lost his lid and spit out one non-understandable sentence after another, sounding like an out-of-control Uzi. They were quickly separated by the taxi driver, who kept Mr. Kim from his wife as she scooted into the back of the taxi and locked the door. A cab pulled up next to the crowd, and a woman stepped out.

Drop Bait On Water Crossword Clue Puzzle Answers

"He twelve year old, " she said. When Tom-Su first moved in, we'd seen him around the projects with his mother. He wasn't in any of the other boxcars either. In our neighborhood it was unheard-of.

Drops In Water Crossword

Under it, in it, on it. Suddenly, though, one of us got a bite and started to pull and pull at the drop line, with the rest of us yelling like mad, but just as we were about to grab for the fish, the drop line snapped. Once or twice we'd seen Pops stepping along the waterfront, talking to people he bumped into. Oh, and once we caught a seagull using a chunk of plain bagel that the bird snatched out of midair. Drop fish bait lightly crossword clue. Tom-Su stood before us lost and confused, as if he had no clue what had just happened. All the while the yellow-and-orange-beaked seagulls stared at us as if waiting for the world to flinch.

Drop Of Salt Water Crossword

Green ocean plants in jars, in plastic bags, in boxes, and open on the shelves, as if they were growing on vines. Its eyes showed intelligence, and the teeth had fully lost their buck. We'd stopped at the doughnut shack at Sixth Street and Harbor Boulevard and continued on with a dozen plus doughnut holes. "Tom-Su, " one of us said to him in the kitchen, "is this all you eat? It was average and gray-coated, with rough, grimy surfaces and grass yard enough for a three-foot run. A second later Tom-Su shot down the wharf ladder, saying "No, no, no" until he'd disappeared from sight. Once again he glanced around and into the empty distance. Often the fish schools jumped greedy from the water for the baited ends of our lowering drop lines, as if they couldn't wait for the frying pan. It was the end of August. I mean, if he could laugh at himself, why couldn't we join him? SOMETIME in the middle of August we sat on the tarp-covered netting as usual.

Drop Bait On Water

We shook Tom-Su from his stare-down, slid off Mary Ellen's netting, grabbed our buckets, and broke for the back of the Pink Building. Usually if no one got a bite, we'd choose to play different baits or move to a new spot in the harbor. Up on Mary Ellen's nets our doughnuts vanished piece by piece as we watched straggler boats heading into or back from the Pacific Ocean. "Tom-Su, " one of us once said to him, "what are you looking at?

Tom-Su bolted indoors. Once he looked like the edge of a drainpipe, another time the bumper of a car parked among a dozen others, and yet another time a baseball cap riding by on a bus. On the right side of his forehead was a red, knuckle-sized bump. Tom-Su's mother gave a confused look as Dickerson wrote on a piece of paper. As we met, Tom-Su simply merged with our group without saying a word; he just checked who held the buckets, took hold of them, and carried them the rest of the way. He still hadn't shown. We yelled and yelled, and he pulled and pulled, as if he were saving his own life by doing so. As Tom-Su strolled beside us, we agreed that the next time, Pops would pay a price. THAT night a terrible screaming argument that all of the Ranch heard busted out in Tom-Su's apartment. A click later he'd busted into a bucktoothed smile and clapped his hands hard like a seal, turning us into a volcano of laughter. Or how yelling could help any.

Once, he looked our way as if casting a spell on us. Tom-Su father no like; he get so so mad. Wherever we went, he went, tagging along in his own speechless way, nodding his head, drifting off elsewhere, but always ready to bust out his bucktoothed grin. From a block away we stood and watched the goings-on. Removing the hook from its beak shook loose enough feathers for a baby's pillow. As a morning ritual we climbed the nearest tarp-covered and twice-our-height mountain of fishing nets at Deadman's Slip. His teeth were now a train cowcatcher, his eyes two tar-pit traps, and his drool a waterfall.