A fish hangs on the wall with a grill in its mouth.
The room feels like a bait shop, a corner store, and somebody's back porch all pressed together. Beer signs, lures, live bait, old wood, and that Gulf South humidity that makes everything feel sticky and alive.
The fish is already caught, already displayed, and maybe already dinner. But that grill changes the whole attitude. It gives the fish a kind of shine, like it's not done talking yet.
That's the part I keep coming back to, something meant to be remembered, a good story. Funny, strange, and a little too familiar.
