He is food for a week. The glassy surface bubbles up as his body begins to rise. Taking the weight now . . . Splash. I lunge to grab him. Too late. His smooth skin slips from my fumbling fingers. The big, stiff body whirls downward like a bright dead leaf falling from a limb. His blank stare goes round and round as he sinks deeper and deeper. All of the other dorados have been watching. Like fingers reaching down to him, they descend. Deeper, still deeper. Finally their shapes converge like living petals blooming from the stamen of the dead fish. The tiny flower whirls ever deeper, getting
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