He climbed slowly out of the swimming pool, shivering a bit and looking pensively at the heavy grey sky.

-- I'm cold, put that robe on and go inside.

He looked down to find a small fish attached to his chest, just above the heart. Its skin look white and unhealthy, even against his own.

-- Don't worry, everything's all right. Let's get inside.

He shook his head, shivered, and then wrapping his robe around him headed into the hotel. It hadn't been the greatest of holidays so far. The weather had been terrible for the time of year, all grey overcast skies and squally winds, but he'd resolved to make the best of it. Now he just felt tired and worn, all the feelings he'd been trying to escape. He got the elevator back to his room even though it was only on the first floor, and collapsed into bed.

-- I'm hungry. Wake up, I need some food.

He woke to blurred eyes and late afternoon gloom crawling in through the window. Now he thought about it he was getting hungry too. Just time for a quick shower, and then go out to one of the restaurants down the road.

-- No time for a shower, I'm starving. Just get dressed and go out.

He shrugged to himself, reached over, unzipped his battered suitcase and pulled out the least creased pair of trousers from the crumpled mess of clothes inside. Standing up he started pulling on the trousers and stumbled as his foot got entangled with the fabric. The fish swayed precariously against his chest.

-- Careful, you might hurt me. And don't wear the red shirt with these trousers - it clashes. Wear the green one instead, it's much more your style.

He discarded the red shirt he was about to put on, and picked out the green one from within the suitcase. It was crumpled but wearable, and a bit thin at the elbows. He pulled on some socks and shoes and headed out into the lobby.

The restaurant was small and not particularly crowded. A bored waiter was hovering, waiting to take his order. He cleared his throat.

"I'll have the seafood pasta..."

-- No, I fancy chicken.

"er... no, actually I'll have the chicken..."

The waiter looked at him, wearily scraping a biro across his pad.

"...and a bottle of house white."

When the meal came it was half cold with limp vegetables and a bland sauce, but he gulped at it, suddenly much hungrier than he'd realised. Afterwards he sat for a while, sipping his wine and watching the other customers. A woman at the bar kept looking over to his table. She was quite attractive, young with jet black hair and curious eyebrows. He raised his hand to signal the waiter, thinking to get him to ask her if she would like to join him.

-- She's not good enough for you. Look at her - her face is pinched and she has a sharp nose. I bet she's older than she looks. Besides, I'm tired. Let's just go back to our room and sleep. 

The waiter appeared at his table. He paid the bill and left without looking back.

Outside it was raining, coldly slanting rain crashing down onto the pavement and sliding thickly into pools before tumbling down into the drains. Shivering againt the cold he wished that he'd worn a jacket.

-- I feel dry. Take your shirt off so I can enjoy the rain. 

He started to unbutton his shirt and then looked down at the pale fish squatting against him, rivulets of water spreading down its shiny skin. A weak spark of rebellion woke in his heart.

"I'm not taking my shirt off for you. I'd catch my death in this weather. And I never asked for you or your damned advice. Who do you think you are, ordering me around like this?"

The fish blinked.

-- Well, if that's how you feel, you little ingrate...

The fish flapped its tail up in his face. Its teeth detached themselves from his chest leaving a little ring of bloody scars. It flopped to the ground and started to slither away. He watched it for a while as it made its way down the street and then disappeared down a drain. He fumbled at his shirt buttons with half numb fingers and, arching his back against the rain, shivered. There must be hundreds of them down there.