It's This Big he claimed like spurious fisherman do. The one that got away, it was This Big. Mind this fellow didnt get away as such as half of him purportedly rotted on a Mombasa beach. 'Do you want to see a sharks head?' Of course. We have to run, to catch the tide. We hurry through a maze of back streets and laugh ourselves out of breath my new friend and I. Forever following strangers into dark alleys protected by an impenetrable shield of blind faith. Plus an F4 that might deliver quite a whack if swung in time. We laughed all day and he took me to meet his friends. They laughed too. We poked at spices in the market and over a tiny cup of tarmacadem coffee I learnt his sorry business. First hurry to the sharks head. But the tide had beat us to the shore and he got away. I didnt see him but he was This Big.