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The Department of Remorse

This is a story that was a long time in the making: it reached its best incarnation this summer and appropriately landed here: 

She named the fish Hamilton, after another secretary, another fish. The name seemed absurdly grand for the tiny being that occupied the bowl on her desk, with its seeming affectations — every morning swimming backwards in anticipation of being fed. To her, this was an affectation, an unwarranted display, which meant what? A dance, a preparatory dance — to the crumbs of food it would get in its artful, yet perhaps too minimally described bowl. She coddled this fish, she made sure its water was sparkling, re-warmed, fit for a governmental fish.  She didn’t neglect it, no matter what happened at work, to do so would have allowed a measure of emotion to permeate her aspect, which she would not do. For more, please go to: