Vincent knew his destiny. The other tuna feared the fishermen. Not Vincent. What greater calling than to be caught, filleted, canned, and sent to the grocer? He’d sit in somebody’s pantry for weeks or months, waiting for his moment. Would he be the star of a casserole, the middle of a sandwich? Or maybe, a zealous carnivore would eat him straight from the can. Whatever the case, he’d be the nutrients nourishing another living being. And what greater love is there than this: that a man would lay down his life for his friends?
