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The Shoot

By Jackson Dunn

The weather had suddenly turned nasty. A hailstorm had blown in from the west and I had sought refuge under a picnic shelter. I had been on my regular morning walk through the environmental reserve when the tropical deluge broke from the heavens.

I was shaking what moisture I could from myself, when a chap who I often passed on my walks, found relief from the downpour in the same shelter. It was just as a bolt of lightning struck a tree in the park and it gave us both a jolt.

"That was close," I said.

He was wringing wet and his clothes were clinging to his body. His pecs and abdomen were highlighted through his athletic singlet and his basket was protruding from his runners. He would have made a great model for some shower gel ad as he smiled and flashed his azure blue eyes at me.

"Yeah, I would have continued on had it not been an electrical storm," he replied.

...

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