While I was growing up on Cape Cod I would go to the fish pier every Sunday Morning with my Dad to pick up a fresh fish.. Part of the ritual would be to stand on the dock and watch the boats unload. While the men all exchanged their secret language of growl and spit, I would stand off to one side watching the fisherman prepare their fresh catch. Many times a fish would jump the box and lay flapping around on the deck of the boat. The fisherman wo...

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