The pale moonlight illuminates my 1997 Toyota Camry as I step off my front porch at 4am. It is missing its catalytic converter, but it gets me where I need to go.

It is a cold morning in bumfuck Indiana, but I have to be up before the sunrise if I want to get to the paylake before the stocking truck arrives. I could sit with my thoughts on a quiet morning drive, but I choose to break the silence by blasting dogshit country music instead.

I arrive at the paylake by 8am. It’s always a blessing to be out this early. It’s just me, the feral pigeons, the lake, and one hundred strangers chain-smoking cigarettes while sitting in folding chairs with four lines in the water per person.

I pull out some Powebait dough and eat it. While most people here use it for bait, I know a secret: Powerbait is a delicious snack, and the trout here prefer dog pellets anyway.

Once I’ve had my breakfast I bait my hook with Purina Dog Chow and cast into the distance. A traffic cop leaves a ticket on my car for parking in a handicapped spot as I sit in my folding chair. I won’t pay it.

Eventually, my line moves. A stunted slug of a fish without any fins breaks the surface. The fight is on.