Napoleon wrasse sits in the aquarium, working his thick blue lips. Over 40 pounds, over 40 years old with a large protruding hump on his forehead. The hump used to be less prominent, when he was a she. Smaller fish dart around but he remains unperturbed. Aside from the excitement of his recent sex-change, his life consists of sitting in this aquarium. For forty years.
As I ponder this, he slowly moves to a back corner and turns tail up, nose in the sand, wiggling. "What is he doing?" I ask the nearby employee. "Physical therapy." Middle age is a bitch.