(Another spare posting resulting from my inability to count!) 

It’s about 8.15 am.

He’s already been to obtain his stocks of fish for the day, set up his stall at the market, and arrange his wares for maximum visual impact.

His hands will be cold from handling the fish.  His fingers will be raw from the abrasions of crabs, langoustines and mantis shrimp.  His clothes will be impregnated with the aroma and encrusted with the scales.

I think he has every right to look a little weary.



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