Clay was restless and bored, uninterested in fishing. Everyone else seemed to be doing it with great success, which in Clay's mind meant that by tomorrow or the next day, the camp was going to smell of rotting fish. Either that, or everyone was going to be sick from eating a shit-load of alien sushi...
Or maybe both. Christ, that was going to stink to high heaven. His unappetizing reverie was interuppted by the sight of one of the newer arrivals making his way painfully down out of the tree. Keen for any distraction from the boredom, Clay swung from vine to vine, angling his way closer as he observed the new guy's progress.
"Hey. Ain't no kitchen sink here," he greeted him from a nearby branch.