Kid at aquarium store

"Hi there, how are you?"

"Good"

"Alright, let me know if you need anything,"

... and that was the extent of our conversation.

Quiet guy, didn't know much about fish, or aquariums. It's clear that this is a college job, a way to pay the bills this semester. A way to get by.

The owners trust him enough to have him run the place singlehandedly. That's not hard to do on a nasty, misty Thursday afternoon. In fact, it looks fun to walk around and stare at all the aquariums filled with all sorts of fish: big ones, small ones, ones with blue and white speckles, shaped like a dinner plates, others brown and striped, built like a stone tip tied to an acient spear.

No customers. Nothing to do. But stare at fish.

Sometimes he imagines he's one of them, running around carelessly in a glass box, moving in three dimensions. He doesn't realize he's locked in and trapped. He enjoys the scenery--bizarre, spiny plants on the left. Sideways terra cotta pot on the right. Anemones beneath that he avoids, unless he's a clown fish that day.

Some days, he's an eel, slithering around like an underwater viper, waiting for victims to come near him. An underwater thug, he doesn't care that he's ugly. He gets his way by force and impression.

Other days, he's a golden-yellow apple snail, lounging around, looking startlingly perfect for lazily eating up chunks of algae. The supermodel of the aquarium world--there's no need to run around, keep moving, just to stay alive. It's easier to sit there, look pretty, and enjoy life.

Each day he locks up the doors behind him, leaving this daydream behind. There's no picking and choosing now. He has to make his own fate.