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dozens of them. A theory about dreams. Why we dream. Why we remember some, don't others. Something to do with physics. Thorn following her words, her idea, then things becoming more and more intricate until he was lost and found himself watching her lips shape the words, not hearing her theory anymore, just watching the stream of beautiful words coming from her intriguing mouth. Exotic words, wide exotic mouth. Rochelle.
    Sugarman let out a whoop that jerked Thorn upright.
    Sugar's reel was revving, and twenty yards to the east the silver water humped and surged and a monster snook flopped hard on its side, shook its head savagely against the six-pound line.
    Sugarman rose to get leverage on the fish, but the canoe wobbled precariously and he squatted back down. For the next ten minutes, Thorn watched him fight that same impulse, until the snook made a sudden reel-melting run and Sugarman came to his feet again, hauled back on the rod, and tipped the canoe.
    Everything went overboard. Their gear, the remains of their lunch. The puppy splashed around, then started swimming in delirious circles licking at the water as he went. Up to his knees in muck and soft sand, Thorn laughed and cursed, and after a moment's bewilderment, Sugarman joined in. The two of them wallowed about until they got the canoe righted, the provisions and the puppy back inside, Sugarman one-handing his rod the whole time, keeping the line taut on his fish. Thorn steadied the canoe while Sugar climbed back inside, then Thorn slid over the side and settled into his seat again.
    Finally Sugar hauled the fish to the boat. While Thorn held the tippet high, they examined the brute. Close to forty pounds. On Sugar's light line, the snook might even be a world record if they wanted to take it back, weigh it on official scales.
    "Gonna keep it?"
    Sugarman gave Thorn a quiet look and pried the barbless hook from the fish's jaw, eased him back into the water, moved him gently back and forth till the fish recovered and glided away into the labyrinth of tidal channels.
    As they were drying out in the sun, Sugarman lifted his hand and gestured at the deepwater cove twenty feet away. A pod of dolphin had rolled into the inlet. Thorn counted half a dozen circling the cove.
    A moment later the water boiled with bait fish. For several minutes the dolphin worked together, herding what must have been a very large school of mullet tighter and tighter until they had them clustered in a thick mass. Then the dolphin moved in, the water churning briefly. Lunch.
    "Damn mullet never had a chance."
    "Makes you glad dolphin are on our side," Sugar said.
    Thorn stared at the last flutters of water. "Only reason they're on our side is 'cause they don't know us that well."
    They watched the dolphin move away, an undulating line. "We ought to get out here more often," Thorn said, leaning back, stretching out his arms. "Blow out the arteries."
    "Some of us got jobs, man."
    "Go on," Thorn said. "Give me some more shit."
    "Naw, it's too easy."
    "Well, anyway, that explains where the hell you been these last few weeks. I was beginning to worry about you, man."
    "It's good to be missed."
    "Actually what it is, I'm running a little low on hair."
    Sugarman scowled.
    For the last few months Sugar had been grabbing handfuls of hair out of the trash can behind the Hairport Beauty Salon next to his office. Dropping the hair off at Thorn's so he could experiment with it in his bonefish flies. Thorn had discovered that pinches of frosted hair worked the best. The frosted stuff stood up to saltwater almost as well as boar bristle.
    "You been kind of engrossed lately," Sugar said. "I didn't think you'd notice I wasn't around."
    "You mean Rochelle. Engrossed with Rochelle."
    Sugarman shrugged.
    "Yeah," Thorn said, smiling. "I guess you could call it that. Engrossed."
    Sugarman lifted his gaze to some clouds in the east. "By the way. Tell me something, Thorn. Why the hell'd you name that dog Rover? All the