He wrote down the name Hank Stewart. Stared at it for a while and decided it was a good start.
He wrote Dr. Hank Stewart. Then: Hank Stewart, M.D.
But hell, doctors were nothing special. Matter of fact, they were assholes, all puffed up and full of themselves.
So he wrote Hank Stewart, ESQ.
Crossed that off the list. Lawyers were bigger assholes than doctors.
How about Hank Stewart, Nuclear Physicist.
Or Hank Stewart, Nobel Prize Winner.
Give ’em a smile as they took his picture.
Hell with that. That kinda fame was too short-lived. A picture in a newspaper for about a day. Big effing deal.
Ah, that was stupid. Kid stuff.
Still, kid stuff was better than peddling fish.
I’ll take one pound of snapper, please.
Yeah, lady. Right up your ass.
The old people always buying fish ’cause they didn’t got no teeth to chew meat. They came up to the counter, moving their mouths over their dentures, whistling the word “snapper,” their hands and head shakin’, looking like they wasn’t glued together very tight.
That was the worst part. Working behind the counter.
Now the gutting part was okay. Especially once you got the feel for it, didn’t let the suckers slip out of your hands.
Fish were slimy little bastards, all the gook would get over your clothes and you never could get the smell out. Thing to do was just work in smelly clothes for a while, then chuck ’em in the garbage.
