Devonport by Chloe Honum

 

Devonport

Chloe Honum

The man has chosen that he wants his ashes scattered from the end of the pier where he used to fish with his buddies. They’d sit on overturned paint buckets. Sometimes the waves gusted up and the hems of his pants got wet and salty. He liked the gulls that stood on the railing, all puffed up with sky. Having made the decision, he walks at dusk to the end of the pier and looks out at the sea. As he turns away, he sometimes gives a small, happy nod, like a man thinking yes, I will buy this house.