Here one sits in familiar feeling shadows before meeting the steam pot.
"Best lobstahs yevah gonna have"...
Its 2am. Do you know where your children are? They're walking through chilly fish puddles in a year-old $86,000,000 refrigerated facility in the south Bronx.
If you can't sleep, go to the fish market. Its between the meat market and the prison, and is filled with fluorescent lights and the pungent, gleaming catch you were hoping to find.
Its cold and damp. Guys have cigarettes hanging out of their mouths, and many of them have round bellies that bulge protectively close to the fish, watching over them.
At least there were souls who walked by and didn't think this was a good idea at all, and left those sad embalmed things on the shelf to be marked down to move.
Be thankful for actual cherries. The ones that ripen, the ones we eat, adding their souls to ours.