My brother. Sloppy. That's about any kind of standard. If a corner needs cut and he's

going to cut that corner, except for one weird thing. Aquariums. This guy, Mr. Slipshive, Mr.

Drini, is super meticulous about his aquariums. Temperatures calibrate it within half a degree.

PH levels check, read check, salinity monitor. He loves aquariums, often keeping four or

five enormous tanks at a time. Saltwater, fresh water, even brackish tanks, mimicking areas that

turn fresh and saltwater together. Every tank, a work of art. Brightly colored fish swimming

through fluorescent coral, seaweed, floating plants, ground cover, this riot of life. He says he's trying

to create the perfect ecosystem. Look at him, bent over his reverse osmosis water dual filtration

machine, like a proud papa. You see, he loves these fish, like he birken himself, some even swim

into his hand, as he strokes their belly. It's wild. And that's why, helping him clean his

prized fresh water tank. I ask him, why? Why? Why are you going to put this crazy ugly

Oscar fish into the tank? This glorious, beautiful tank. You know it's aggressive. You know it's

going to eat all the pretty fish. He looks at me, almost like he's sad. And he says, no,

there is no perfect ecosystem without a killer.

This week on Snap, in celebration of the season, for featuring supernatural stories from an

evil twin podcast, spooked, spooked art. Now.

Each and every aquarium is its own contained world. And one of the best aquariums is in Monterey,

Bay, California. Years ago, Kevin Wright, he worked as a security guard there. But it was years

before that, when he was just a little kid, when he fell in love with the place, under the very first

visit, spooked.

I was a little giddy. The light bouncing off the fish and the kelp, seeing octopus glide across

the windows, almost like it was flying underwater. You get the sense that you're swimming in the ocean.

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