Internets, meet Fish.
Fish, meet the internets.
No, that's not his name. No, I don't know what his name is. He hasn't told us. Yet.
He's still acclimating. To the water. To his tank. And to us.
It would seem, in that, Fish and I have a lot in common.
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Yesterday my mother showed up at my door with 13 handcrafted birthday invitations in one hand and 1.75 liters of vodka in the other. The two are mostly unrelated. The invites are made from paper and glitter. Stamp and ink. She didn't write in them, but provided
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