Nobody really knows who made the stiff prawn rendition. They probably do, although I haven’t bothered to ask. Not knowing things is nice, sometimes. Situated next to the bell, which is completely out of customer reach, I stare at it. I always stare at it. That taxidermy prawn. Three out of the four stare- at- it- always, stares, I touch it. The tiny speckles of spray paint; the crack down the middle, mended with a small portion of sticky tape, a few limbs missing. Wondering whether or not the prawn taxidermist ate the flesh of the prawn before, or after embarking on the process of rendering, it, the prawn, back to a state of semi-looking-alive-not-really-ness. Perhaps consumed with a little lemon and salt. A simple, stable, steady handed man. Was he a taxidermist from the beginning, or just a man who just ate a few prawns and came face to face with this grand miniature prawn epiphany? Or was it an avid, middle- aged, feminist knitter from the down south. Sitting, knitting the monotony of yet another floral scarf with androgynous colours, when her high school aspiration to be a sculptor broke through the brain matter, as that taxidermy prawn vision? Was their motive none other than to gain points with the boss, a future of discounts, on these highly prized crustaceans during the Christmas season? Or just a new year’s resolution to be more creative. Who knows, this taxidermy prawn could just be a resume.
The prawn is usually next to the customer bell that is out of customer reach, it does not have inbuilt robotics to assist with cash register sales. Exercising ones imagination is just as important as going for a walk. Not getting attached to those imaginings is just as important as doing a poo.