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Tuna Melts
by Michael C. Keith

All theory, dear friend, is grey, but the golden [sea] of
actual life springs ever green.

                                           –– Goethe

“New Orleans reminds me of dark death, Hank.”

“How so, Fred? Explain what you’re saying, my friend.”

“This is a city where they stack corpses on top of one another ten high to make room for new arrivals.”

“A sensible use of limited urban space, I would say. So what’s your point?”

“All those decaying bodies dissolve into a common stew that eventually seeps into Lake Ponchartrain.

“Okay, I think I’m with you so far.” 

“This waste coils out to the Gulf and is consumed by the Albacore.”

“Nice to know that human remains benefit nature.”

“Yeah, but Fishermen return the decedent cells to the dinner tables of the homes and restaurants throughout this area.”

“Sounds anthropomorphic, Fred. A little like reincarnation.”

“Hank, I think I’ve solved the age-old question of what causes multiple personality disorder . . . seafood.”

“Lord, now that’s bizarre thinking. You do come up with some oddball statements that are really out there. Are you taking your pills, Fred?”

“Who’s Fred?”