The Dead Fish

I was eating my oatmeal. My fish walked up to me and said,

“And then there were two.” “And then number two,” I said.

I got up from the table and used the bathroom. Four hours

later I came out sat down on the couch for a television series

binge. My fish sat on the couch beside me and gave me the

look that said it wanted to watch the news and that I hog the

TV. “So, are you going to make me some popcorn or what?”

I said. My fish went into the kitchen and came back with a

bowl of cereal without any milk in it. “Thanks,” I said. “Don’t

mention it,” he said. He left a mark on the couch I couldn’t

get out, and had really been a nag while I was trying to watch

my show. But by nightfall he was back in his tank, sleeping and

floating belly up the way he always does.

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