“Hey, Horwitz,” I said. “You ever pass by the lagoon in Central Park? Down by Central Park South?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“Well, you know the ducks that swim around in it? In the springtime and all? Do you happen to know where they go in the wintertime, by any chance?”

“How the hell should I know a stupid thing like that?”

“Well, don’t get sore about it,” I said.

“Who’s sore? Nobody’s sore.” “The fish don’t go no place. They stay right where they are, the fish. Right in the goddam lake.”

“The fish is different. I’m talking about the ducks,” I said.

“What’s different about it? Nothin’s different about it,” Horwitz said.

“All right. What do they do, the fish and all, when that whole little lake’s a solid block of ice, people skating on it and all?”

“They stay right where they are, for Chrissake.” “Their bodies take in nutrition and all, right through the goddam seaweed and crap that’s in the ice. They got their pores open the whole time. You don’t think them fish just die when it gets to be winter, do ya?”

“No, but-”

“You’re goddam right they don’t,” Horwitz said, and drove off like a bat out of hell.