That it should come to this! That the grim city has given rise to a fish so crazed with the lust to be eaten! That he should employ violence—indeed, that he should engage in such an elaborate criminal enterprise bent on the consumption of himself and his entire gang!
We thought we had seen animals at their lowest, animals at their most debased and ugly, their sick thirsts borne high like flags. We were wrong.
Here, Bugsy the Fish, trusty tommygun in fin, calls out to all comers: "This way for great fish & chips!"
His life of violence has wreaked its havoc on him. He is stiff with rage, his cheroot like a knife. His face is a brutal mask. All of his energy is devoted to the proposition that the world is his oyster and he is the world's fish. He wants to be consumed, and dammit! He will be consumed! "Listen up, you saps. This is my joint, see? And in my joint, me and my crew are the ones what get eaten, got it?"
And what of the poor old woman at table two? So cowed, so sad. So alone. Has she ordered the blue plate special? To paraphrase Gloria Steinem, "A woman without a plate of flesh is like a 1930s mobster fish without a gun."
(Thanks to Dr. Erin for the referral and to Dr. charlie-75 for the photo.)