fish?

It is not a surprise to find the word ‘fish’ more than fifty times when you visit the Sydney fish market. You see the word on the light rail sign directing you towards the block of land that houses dead fish. Maybe that is why the buildings have their own renditions of fifty shades of blue; turquoise, aqua, and dark blue to create the façade of calmness before one enters into the building.

When you enter you are slapped in the face with an infected composition of air; thick smoke coming from the seafood sizzling after being battered, dunked and fried in 100-degree heat. As well as the aroma of raw flesh from ‘Christies seafood restaurant’ as the worker vigorously pokes his knife into the oyster, shucking its soul and dumping it into a box full of ice to be displayed for people to drool over.

The shucking of a soul must be a legal right for workers ONLY, considering they had put out a sign for customers saying ‘Please don’t touch the 15-year-old oysters’.  

On the other side was ‘Peter’s seafood restaurant’ and if police visited the place it would hit the newspapers as a crime scene:

 ‘Live Marron’s have been kidnapped from the ocean and left to die. Who are the murderers?’

Within ten minutes, the living creatures were found dead in their homes of ice-filled boxes.

 A witness stated,

“There were about fifteen Marrons in each box, I saw them piled on top of each other. No one did anything about it.”

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