Moby

Moby was a minnow. He wasn’t even a big minnow. He was fast though. 0-60 in less than five. He ate stuff smaller than him and knew there was a good chance something bigger than him might one day eat him.
He was okay with it. It was the nature of things.
He practiced swimming fast 3 times a week. Saturday nights he drank expensive cognac in a bar located at the mouth of a feeder stream on the Rock River in a mystical place called Illinois. It was minnow bar. No catfish allowed. The sign clearly posted over the entrance.
Moby was getting pretty hammered, when he spied a sleek looking female minnow in a red party dress. She looked familiar from the health club, but he had no idea what her name was. He waggled on over to her and introduced himself.
“My name is Gina. I live a long way from here in the big lady they call the Mississippi.”
“Wow,” Moby was really genuinely impressed. Impressed but hammered, so he couldn’t think of what to say next.
“I’m visiting my aunt Frieda,” Gina continued. “She’s ill, someone’s been dumping lead near her house.”
“That’s too bad.”
“What are ya gonna do....” She sighed.
“I can swim very fast,” Moby said for no reason at all.
Gina raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Yes. I practice constantly.”
Moby went home, as usual, alone.