There's bigger fish in the seas to fry than this one. Plumper, rounder, fatter, chubbier and all sorts of synonomyns or whatever they call those dastard words. Either way the idea of taking the time to even give a thought to this fish is absolutely ludicrous. So why am I still thinking about this fish? There's not a point to it, I should just stop and get on with all the other fish that are worth the effort. But this fish, there's something about this fish that just can't leave my mind. The mates won't really understand but I just need to do something about this fish. It's pudgy though, and me, I don't go for pudgy fish I've got too much meat on my bones to find anything like satisfying enough. It's such a tiny little thing, it would squish between my hands and its bones would crack in my teeth. So why do I want to see if they would crack? Maybe I'm just a bit too old to be going for the big fish now, maybe I need to be lowering it down a bit, bringing myself to a level not so plump and juicy. But the plump and juicy is always nice, no one can argue with that. The mates they'd say I'm crazy, they'd see me with that fish and think I'm a little poof of a weakling. They'd laugh and oh I know they'd let tears come out of their eyes with hysterics. Look at that old man with the little fish, I know they'd say. I can't go for this small fish, I gotta fry the big ones. Oh the big ones, they're always so good you can't really go wrong with them at all. Except for that one that gave a bit of upset to the stomach afterwards, but that one was always a bit iffy. The big ones are the good ones, fry the big ones lad, that's what I need to remember. But the small one, I can't take my mind off the small one. Maybe I should do it, maybe I should just go for it. Who cares what the mates think, they can screw their minds to a saltwater croc for all I care. I don't care about the big fish, I want to fry the small one and that's that, I'm doing it.

"Hi," I say.

"Hi," she says.