I like Japanese restaurants. I like sushi and edamame and tempura and at one point in my life often looked to sake as an effective mid-afternoon mental anesthetic. Brain novocaine.
So, the sushi chef hands me a nice thick piece of salmon sashimi. Sashimi looks up at me with his big gooey eyes and he is all pink and slobbering about his friends who had just been strapped to the back of a brandless motorcycle headed for London Terrrace Apt 6E. He is all crying and shit and all of a sudden I realize that his sobs have drowned out the calming acoustic cascades of the serenity waterfall on the wall near me so I stab him with my chopstick and eat the fuck out of him.
No comments:
Post a Comment