I dream. The fish is large and shiny, pink and crimson bouncing off its scales. I know I've caught a good one. It's nearly as long as my arms... my arms are pretty long, by the way. I'm stressed and hungry and waiting for Someone to show me how to gut it. But none know I'm waiting for them. I haven't the nerve to ask for help. Instead, I throw the fish into my car, near to the flax mattress I've been sleeping on. The fish has been in there a whole day already. I don't remember when I last ate, if ever. I suppose I once ate, once when I was alive and in a festive mood. I'd feast now if I could. You can't eat a fish until its innards are removed, right? And naturally, it must be cooked. But I know how to cook just fine. Perhaps I'll starve, and let the fish stink up my car. I don't even enjoy fishing anyway. Why did I catch this thing? Why did I have a fishing pole? My stomach rumbles, reminding me I need no reason. I had a reason, though....