CotD

I’ve just finished eating a Scottish Haddock. Not
the New York jazz club diner dish. Mine
was breaded from the tail, north to the
first orifice.

My companion gets up.
"I’ll be right back." Not. "Excuse me."

As she turns away I catch her sleeve. "Bring
me back a sniff."

I spend the next few moments idly
sipping dark ale, considering
which smell, and thinking
that you’ll never know for sure.