I was tearing at a steamed pork bun on Bayard St. when a seafood broker's truck pulled to the curb; the driver popped out across the street while his passenger caught some quick Zs. Behind the cab of the truck — a drab Mitsubishi Fuso marked with an address on the nether end of the Navy Yard — the open bed carried a large wooden tank hooked up to rubber tubing and tarnished aeration canisters. One poor fish, which must have expired before being handed over to a restaurant, was lying forgotten on the crosspiece of the tank (let's hope forgotten, and not being set aside for some penny-saving stew).
Several minutes later, after walking through the Elizabeth-Bowery arcade, I saw the fish again, gleaming in the distance, as the truck made the sweeping turn onto the Manhattan Bridge ramp, headed home to Brooklyn.
Fish out of water
Bayard St., New York
