Fishing season began early this year for your Miette, with the streetside discovery of a freshly abandoned goldfish with wonky telescopic eyes, in its bowl and with a note reading:
Free Fish! Please Give Steve Buscemi a good home.
And of course I did. I found an exceptional home for him, a home where he’s given all the love and post-traumatic care that he needs, and maybe even such environmental niceties as filters and plastic sunken ships. And I mention this now not out of gratitude to his new clan, although that’s there in spades, nor out of self-congratulations for my successful act as adoption supervisor, though, you know, I felt pretty good about the rare chance at a good charitable act.
But on the off-chance that the noontime hot-sidewalk abandoner stumbles across this page, you little shit, do send me an email so I can say a few inappropriate and depravedly nasty words to you directly. Anonymous tips will not be prosecuted.
But something good came of it, in that it’s a more natural anecdotal segue than I’m used to.
(This a second-hand mic, a little poppier than usual, back next week purring into the usual devices)