Cleaning Mullet in Nice
Under the flat, diffuse light of an overcast midday, a fishmonger in a stained blue waxed canvas apron stands behind a slanted wooden counter in the Vieux Nice market. His hands, protected by thick, grease-spotted work gloves, are busy scrubbing a pile of silver mullet with a rough block of bar soap, sending droplets onto the darkened, algae-stained tile grout below. Behind him, a faded turquoise shutters frames the narrow alleyway, while a wicker hamper sits half-empty near a brass door latch that gleams dully against the grey stone wall. A sudden gust of wind lifts the corner of a red-and-white striped awning, casting a fleeting, jagged shadow across the wet scales of the fish.
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