The fish men see her still, their Annie, in the hide-and-seek shadows of South Street. She's telling her dirty jokes and doing anything for a buck: hustling newspapers, untaxed cigarettes, favors, those pairs of irregular socks she'd buy cheap on Canal. She's submitting to the elements, calling out "Yoo-hoo" to the snow and the rain and her boys.For several decades, Annie was the profane mother of the old Fulton Fish Market, that pungent Lower Manhattan place fast becoming a mirage of memory.