My best friend in high school dated a girl from Durham, Maine and at some point she brought him out to Runaround Pond, and eventually he brought us out there. We didn’t need much of an excuse to go there – mid-week, weekends, whenever we wanted to escape from our day to day and just live in the moment of what was a body of water passing swiftly below a 15 foot drop of rock. I’ve never done the analysis, but what we called “the pond” was more like a cross between a stream and a river – closed in on all sides by steep granite and woods. There was worn dirt up on the rock cliffs where locals had gathered for decades. That’s where we met the redneck with no name, but his Doberman Pinscher was named Adonis… and he spoke that name like he was all too familiar with it and used it like a curse word, as the only thing that would come out of his mouth was some sort of scolding of the dog and he himself would bark ‘Donis! without the A and we’d all wonder what the hell deserved the vitriol that this long haired, sinewed Durham-ite could provide. We were newbies to this proverbial neck of the woods and we were outnumbered by just one… but we knew he was wrong in so many ways without even knowing him. We went back a few more times, took girlfriends for picnics, drank beer and wine over the water, and spoke about how they took that LL Bean canoe shot right here, and can you believe how perfect this is, just a mile from the general store and all… but that’s how it is with the pre-fabricated houses for a bargain in a part of town that deserves barn wood and cedar shingles. And that’s not what my life was today.