On the drive from Crossroads to Manitoulin, Scott reflected on the past two weeks. Finishing up his time at the camp had been bittersweet. Hed made lifelong friends, and on most days, he knew his work there made a difference.
But as he drove his red 1958 Ford F-150 down the narrow two-lane road through the northern Ontario wilderness, he felt an irrepressible sense of excitement at the prospect of the next chapter of his life.
In Manitoulin, he drove straight to the Rusty Hatchet Pub, parking in the small lot, and making his way into the bar.
Scott, my boy, called a familiar smoky voice.
As Scotts eyes adjusted to the murky interior, a stark contrast to the brilliant sun outside, he spotted his friend Eustace Farmer.
Eustace! Hows it going, my brother? The fact that Eustace was in his late eighties had never fazed Scott. He made friends wherever he went and was always happy to meet someone with a story.