An old woman and an old man approached the judges’ booth. They stood side-by-side. He supported the head of the lengthy fish; she, the fin. At their feet, a very fat, very slimy delicatty wove between their legs, enamored by the raw scent of their catch. The pair stepped up to the table, when feasible, and flopped the carcass onto the table, relived to be pardoned of carrying their burden while also dodging the advances of the hungry feline, and eager to do what fishermen do best: tell stories.
Without warning, the old woman, with whiskers that looked remarkably similar to the yellow strands sprouting from the thick lips of their catch -save for the fact that hers brimmed with life- opened her mouth, and a tale came out, as casually as air:
“I couldn’t find my cat,” the old woman began, but caught herself and added, “well, that’s not entirely true. It wasn