“You don’t need to teach me how to swim.” Caelan murmured. He stayed away from water well enough. The Mississippi was at the opposite end of Canal Street and he hardly gathered enough rain water at any one time to engage in more than a quick navy shower. “You told me not to fall in the river and I don’t plan to.” It was as simple as that, or so he hoped. Caelan had caught on well enough by now to understand that Dusty was going to do what he wanted, when he wanted. If he wanted to teach Caelan how to artistically paint rocks with clay sediment, then that was how their afternoon would go.<br/><br/>He noted the specifics on the catfish anatomy and vowed to keep his hands to himself. Why did everything Dusty set out to catch have to pose some sort of danger towards them? Caelan knew that hauling an alligator onto the boat wasn’t the best idea, but now they couldn’t even fish for one of those ugly catfish creatures without dealing with venom? Suddenly, tofu didn’t seem so bad.<br/><br/>He was relieved when Dusty deposited the beast into a container. The thing splashed into a shallow pool of water by the sound of it and Caelan exhaled. The last thing he wanted to do was spend the rest of their time on the boat with the sun baked not-dead catfish in the back of his mind.<br/><br/>Caelan sat on the metal bench with his elbows on his knees, gently pulling algae from his hook. He tossed the slimy bits back into the water, careful not to prick his finger. “Do you ever wonder what happened to the rest of the world?” He questioned absently as he unraveled a green strand from where it crept up the fishing line. “You’ve lived in the bayou all of your life. You don’t even want to drive out to Baton Rouge or even over to Slidell and see how things are?” Caelan was interested in some ways, more nosiness than curiosity. After spending the last five years strictly within the New Orleans city limits, part of him wondered how many other small communities were struggling to survive. He wondered how many people there were left in the world, or even just the state of Louisiana.<br/><br/>“There’s other junkyards out there.” He chuckled. “Other gas stations and markets. I’m sure they’ve all been picked clean, but it’s something to do.” Caelan shrugged, knowing exactly what Dusty’s response would say before he had the opportunity to voice it. Everything he needed was in the bayou. He didn’t need to travel further than New Orleans' scrap yard because it had more than a man could ever want. “I go out to Walmart sometimes. If you ever want to come along.” He felt guilty that Dusty always planned their excursions, but there wasn’t much else for them to choose from. Dusty was so wary of other strangers that Caelan knew blindly venturing into a neighboring town was undoubtedly out of the question.