"You gonna stay skinny makin' trades like dat," Dusty pointed out. For him, meat was simply a matter of him going out and getting it. He had the skills and the means, plenty back home, and even more stored away dried and smoked. He'd been unaware that meat for the stranger had been a rare thing and if he'd realized it then he might have felt bad for not bringing him something more than a common catfish fry.<br/><br/>"How you tink dey end up on your dinner plate?" he asked. "Someone's gotta go get 'em!" That someone was men like Dusty, when he had his tags. Now, there was no reason for tags. Not enough hunters to put a real dent in the population, and if there were more fisherman, that might have been a problem. As it were, things balanced themselves out and populations rebounded.<br/><br/>"Yes, dis boat. You see anotha? I shoot it first. Not dat one dough. Dat one needs another few summers gettin' fat. Gotta hook it first too. They sink if you just aim and pop 'em dead," he explained. The stranger seemed concerned, then opted for the cooler and a couple of beers. He opened a beer for him and Dusty nodded his thanks as he ran a hook down the bloodline of a shrimp. It still flicked and flailed, and he swung it around the other man, careful not to snag him, before casting it out. The stranger sprung something unexpected on him, pulling him back to the memories of them in the backseat of his truck.<br/><br/>"You say you live here long enough and you don't know what dat means?" Dusty stalled a bit, before answering. "Means a little extra. A bonus." At the time, it made sense. "You know what<i> Etrange</i>means, yeah? Means you still haven't told me your name." Was he offended that he hadn't? He was there, seeking the man out for something, and it went deeper than a quick fuck in the back of the truck. Maybe the stranger said it better. It didn't matter what they did. The company was enough.