Clappe, a fisherman, who lives on the Honey River. I saw him twice in my life, 6 years apart, yet it was like yesterday from the first time we met. Everyone was a bit older, a bit wiser, yet the same. He was still fishing, I was still photographing, and we were laguhing at the new and the old, and commented how things are still broken, how all the beautiful women left to be with foreign men, mostly Italians. We had our coffee, our conversation, and then it was time to feed his pig.