Kildare Island, the south side of Outer Banks. Home to the working class, who make a living busing tables, washing yachts, running charter boats. The natural habitat of… the Pogues. That’s us.

​Pogues, pogies, the throwaway fish. Lowest member of the food chain. The downside of Pogue life is we’re ignored and neglected. But the upside of Pogue life? That we’re completely ignored and neglected. We can do whatever we want, whenever we want.

​There are two tribes on Kildare. It’s like line-of-sight. If you’re not a Pogue, you’re a Kook. The Kooks live on the Figure Eight side—the rich side of the island. They don't have to work for anything. They got parents with trust funds, country club memberships, and golf carts to drive around in.

​Then there's us. Figure Eight is where the Kooks live, and the Cut is the south side. Home of the Pogues.

First up, JJ. My best friend since the third grade. He’s a local legend, the latest in a long line of fishing, drinking, smuggling, rascal-ing right-wingers who have made a living off the water. Latest in a long line of abuse, too. Fast on his feet, faster with his mouth. A classic middle-child syndrome sufferer. He’s a wild card.

Then there’s Kiara. Or Kie, as we call her. When she’s not saving turtles or listening to The Grateful Dead, she’s hanging out with us. I'm not really sure why she hangs out with us, though. She’s actually a Kook. Her dad owns The Wreck—total local institution. So she’s rich, but she’s a Pogue at heart.

And then there’s Pope. The brains of the operation. Smartest guy I know. A bit on the neurotic side, but he’s heading for a full ride to a top university. His dad is Heyward, the local seafood legend. Pope’s going places, as long as he doesn’t get pulled down with us.

Then, there's Deckard. He seemed cool enough and recently joined us---hes got a brother, Max--or M&M (for Max Miller), raising him since his Pa passed away and his mom moved off to Oklahoma. Deckard is practically our mechanic--fixes The Twinkie, our boats, the Chateau, any lose bolt and he's on it. He's kind of...sarcastic, too, but once you know the guy enough hes good.

And that’s me, John B. I live at The Chateau—a 100-year-old fishing shack my dad bought before he went missing at sea nine months ago.

This is the Outer Banks, where you either have two jobs or two houses. Two tribes, one island.

When we have nothing to do, we throw a keg. Thankfully, none of us were cooped up at home or had to work, so we all showed up, even M&M. Sadly, that meant kooks. They always had to start shit, and we'd get the punishment. Even the snobby, stuck up girls, who usually have their boyfriends do most of the work.