A long line of boxfish travel the coral reef. Most fish swim in schools, clouds of fin & gill shifting with the current or the whims of the leader, all moving together in perfect sync. The boxfish are synchronized as well; not in a cloud, always a line. They swim in & out, up & down, through & though. They have purpose, a destination, & they do not stop to answer queries on that subject.

When they arrive at the cavern, a surly old trout waves them to the unloading area.

“Bout time you got here, fellas. We have to pay those guys to unload whether they’re actually liftin or just standing around waitin for something to lift.”

The boxfish don’t comment. They’ve been swimming and carrying for days, on little sleep, & don’t have the patience for this crap.

At the unloading area, the dock workers open them up and remove the cargo, one by one, fish by fish. At the loading area, the dock workers fill them up, one by one, fish by fish. Then they’re off again in a line carrying cargo to some other part of the reef.