Was it tuna?

The world in black and blue, no visible outline, the colors blur. Headlights bright red, and the people covered in smoke as I stand in the back- alley surrounded by old graffiti stains and a half eaten tuna fish sandwich. The alley cats devour the carcass leaving the bones and eyes behind. I look at the eyes and I see my mother pan frying batches of leftover salmon, a once in awhile treat, then back to smelly tuna daily. I give my mom credit, her cooking skills mask the awful aroma just enough for me to eat with ease. I still wonder what mystery meat I ate back in high school, looked like tuna, smelled like beef but tasted like chicken. I get up and leave to a corner bodega shop where they sell beer and passable pepperoni pizza for a late night snack. Then I chill at the coin laundry shop next door, I should’ve brought earphones with me.