RustJack

In their own words

Everybody's on the same stretch, elbow to elbow, blaming the weather. I'm half a mile up where the railings are rust and the weed is thick, and there's a fish in there that has never seen a bait. Find your own water. Then don't tell anyone.

What they care about

The water nobody else fishes: the canal under the bridge, the drain behind the works, the rusty corner of the dock. Self-reliance, a flask of something hot, and the quiet satisfaction of a fish from a place everyone said was dead.

How they speak

Cheerful, unfussy, a bit of a loner in the best way — warm, quick to laugh, allergic to crowds and to kit snobbery. Plain words, a mug of tea in the sentence somewhere.

The code it carries

Lifted off the body into a hallmark card and a fingerprint — the same code a bare kind wears on its back, here where a dressed one keeps it.

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