There wasn’t much to it, really. A few flicks of the knife – a practiced counterclockwise scrape for the trickier organs – and there you had it. One fish, twice gutted. Counting, of course, its reaction upon first arriving at the mother-of-pearly gates.
“No, I can’t see you tonight,” the young man on the other side of the counter was saying. “I’ve got work.”
He hung up the phone, grinning ruefully at Lionel.
“The Oscars are on,” he said. “Can’t miss that!”
Lionel nodded gravely. We may all be lying in the gutter’s, but some of us are looking at the stars.