Territory over there belonged to a gang out of Oshawa. Made no sense to Dirk. Hell, you could see the western shore from the clubhouse dock, practically smell the barbeques. You could definitely hear the parties. Packed with city kids tweaking their summers away, hammering to deep house, howling at the midnight moon. Money to be made. Easy money. But it was against the rules.
Published in Voices 2013 by the Toronto Writers Cooperative, September 2013. Original flash piece appeared at a terrific coffee house blog run (back then) by E. Victoria Flynn. (Thanks, Vicky!)