Saturday, February 14, 2009
Tom and I spent last night at the Hotel Palomar, here in Dallas, for a story. On the desk, along with a note pad, the hotel directory, and some snacks, was this poor fishy, trapped in a tiny vase--bored, restless, pleading for freedom with his little fish eyes. Sometimes he would look at the wall, sometimes he would look at the bed, sometimes he would float to the top of the water and with his little fish lips, silently beg for mercy.
We went to sleep, there he was. We woke up, there he was. Nothing to do, nowhere to go. We found it horribly depressing. We should have brought him home, bought him a decent-size tank and some friends.
Poor little fishy.