"Number twenty-two?" asks the fishmonger. And when no one answers, a customer says, "I have number twenty-three." They begin the necessary conversation. "Could you clean these sea bream for me for the oven?" "How lovely the mussels are!" "Excuse me! I have number twenty-two, you know?" says a girl with long hair and pumpkin-shaped armpits. "Oh, I called out to him..." says the fishmonger. "You must have called out very softly, we didn't hear you! Call out louder next time!" she scolds her. "It's my fault," says the woman from number twenty-three, trying to help the seller. "Look, I only want monkfish, but I was standing in line at both places, please!" insists the other woman. "How do you want it, monkfish?" asks the fishmonger, who could be her grandmother, and is an expert at cutting and cleaning. "Me? I don't care," the customer shrugs. "I don't eat meat or fish, I shouldn't be here, I was asked to do this, how can you understand why I don't like doing this!" The fishmonger looks at her desolately, her eyes sad and glistening. It's only nine in the morning. She has the whole workday ahead of her.
The customer from stall twenty-three, as soon as the angry one leaves, takes the opportunity to criticize. "What a nasty treatment, right?" she says to the fishmonger. "What's it to us, that I don't want to be here?" And she, the fishmonger, says: "If you only knew... This, really, is nothing compared to certain things..." A man, the one from stall twenty-four, nods his head in agreement. They all know that this queue is a moment of respect and cordiality. Say good morning, ask a few questions, smile at the joy of buying fresh fish in such a nice place, feeling like you're spending every penny wisely to make a meal for someone you love or like. Say goodbye. Talk to the others, ask them what they're going to do with their purchase. "Being angry at the end of the line is unforgivable," says the lady from number twenty-three. And the man from number twenty-four smiles and nods in agreement.
