Fisherman catching fish on Galata Bridge in Istanbul

A photorealistic candid street photograph shot along the upper deck of the Galata Bridge in Istanbul, from about four meters away at chest height, mid-morning.
Dozens of fishermen stand shoulder to shoulder along the railing, their long rods extending out over the Golden Horn in a repeating row of diagonal lines against the sky. Buckets, bait tins, plastic stools and tangles of line crowd the walkway at their feet. Most of them are facing out over the water, backs to the pavement, completely absorbed.
One fisherman in the middle of the frame has just hooked a small fish and is swinging it in. The rod is bent under the load, the line angled steeply, and the fish is caught mid-air arcing over the railing, body curved and flexing, water flying off it in a scatter of frozen droplets that catch the light. The fisherman's arms are mid-haul, his eyes on the fish.
Directly beneath the swinging rod a tourist is walking past with a paper cup of coffee in one hand and a phone in the other, and he has DUCKED. Head tucked, shoulders dropped, knees slightly bent, still walking, not breaking stride, not spilling the coffee. His eyes are on the walkway ahead, not on the rod passing over his head. He has solved the problem without thinking about it and will not remember it happened.
The fisherman standing immediately beside the one hauling in does not look up. He does not glance at the fish, the rod or the ducking man. His eyes stay on his own line out over the water. His complete indifference is what makes the picture.
Behind them the Golden Horn opens out with ferries, small boats and gulls, the Süleymaniye mosque and the dense Eminönü skyline rising on the far shore, softened by distance and the morning haze off the water. More fishermen recede down the length of the bridge in a line, their rods forming an increasingly compressed row of diagonals.
Bright morning light with a thin haze, the sun fairly high and slightly to one side, lighting the fish's wet silver flank as the brightest thing in the frame, catching the flying droplets, and throwing short shadows along the walkway. The sea below is grey-green and busy with chop.
Shot at 35mm f/4, ISO 400, 1/1000s on a mirrorless camera. The fast shutter freezes the fish mid-arc, every flying droplet and the ducking man's stride. The three key figures and the rod are sharp, the row of fishermen recedes with a gentle softening, the far shore sits soft in haze.
The palette is cool and salty: grey-green water, pale hazy sky, weathered metal railing, muted jackets and worn clothing, with the wet silver fish as the one bright flash of light in the whole frame. No legible text anywhere, no signage, no cup branding, no boat names.
The composition puts the hauling fisherman at the left third, the fish in mid-air at the center against the open sky over the water, and the ducking tourist at the lower-center just beneath it. The eye goes to the fish, follows the line down the bent rod, and lands on a man walking underneath it without having noticed. The mood is dry and warm at once: a bridge where three hundred people fish and ten thousand people walk, and everyone handles their own half of the geometry.