Jan 17 2013 By Natasha Gorbert-Hopkins
“Ugh I can’t finish all this food”, I said, staring wistfully down at the final slice of pizza and clutching my belly.
“Don’t look at me,” Dan replied, his own plate containing nothing but a few crumbs. “I’ve already eaten more than I should.”
“Alright. I’ll just have to throw it out.”
I stood up, opened the front door, and spun the pizza, like a cheesy discus, into the canal.
A moorhen immediately dived on it, whilst the water began to churn with the movement of fish.
Once, on a clear summer day, we looked over the side of the boat, and saw a mound of fusilli pasta that had accumulated over the years.
Seems like even fish have discerning taste.