all the pitiful salmon

The salmon was wearing a monocle and leather riding pants. He had a rubber riding crop and a gold tooth and sported expensive French cologne. When he pulled over in the convertible Cadillac he asked, in impeccable Spanglish, "Hey hombre, donde esta a good place for cerveza and oysters on the half shell?"

Taken aback, I began crying. I cried for all the pitiful salmon who could not drive, who could not talk, who could not sit in smoke-filled taverns knocking back beer and oysters. I cried for the world and prayed for a cleansing rain. Most of all, however, I wished for a monocle.