What is that, do you think? I asked. Jane held the bag up to the light. She took out a piece, sniffed. Shark! Shark fins, she pronounced. She smelled again, as if to confirm. For shark fin soup, she added, handing me a fin. How do you even know this? I asked. I brought a dried husk to my nose. They smelled stale, a tinge of oceanic rust, salt crust. We should make shark fin soup! Jane said, too excited to answer. Restaurants don’t serve this stuff anymore because, you know, animal rights. I read that they cut the fins off and then throw the sharks back in the water. What happens to the sharks?
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