They are the only ones who get me. I am the only one who gets them. Five fancy fish with golden chains and fur coats like mine. Five who do not originate here but are here. Five separate hustles taken from the sea. From our height, we can see them, but King just ankle-bites and can’t witness these miracles.
Their fashion is secret. They wear flamboyant threads above and beyond. They dress up and show off and drink the water around their slippery home and blind their peers with pinky rings and never take any losses. This is how they live.
Let one forgot their style for once, they’d all nosedive like a swan, each with their fins around the other. Live, live, live  they say when I arrive. They preach.
When I am too sad and too fancy to keep living, when I feel like I am being judged in front of two juries, then it is then when I look to the fish. When there is nothing left to look at in the bowl. Five who danced despite criticism. Five who fancy and do not forget to fancy. Five whose only reason is to be fancy and be.