Monday night sushi
Walking along under a [relatively> cool, clear spring sky, for just one moment, Monday afternoon, all the troubles in the world slipped away. I was more observant of folks on the hike and bike trail, and I was noting how I was more of a median average with my long hair, except I keep mileage to a point where I don’t find it necessary to carry water with me. Training is everything.
My stops, I had a couple, included picking up a hot link, a tasty morsel of miscellaneous animal part stuffed and cooked, plus a big gulp of soda, plus the added bonus of three correct numbers on a lottery ticket that paid for it all, just made the afternoon slip into a mind-numbing sense of well-being. Didn’t hurt that I intentionally left the pager and cell phone at the trailer when I left.
I didn’t go far, and I did contemplate a quick dip in Barton’s Spring, but opted to save myself for later. I barely got around to returning my morning phone calls and there’s some mail I never did get a chance to respond to, but I decided to take it easy instead of beating myself into a senseless frantic mess trying to accommodate everything. One too many people with apparent Mercury problems.
My Pisces friend calls up, she’s having “a day,” and we agree to a little dinner, winding up at South First Street Sushi on a Monday night. We walked in the door, and there was the sushi chef dressed in a brown polyester suit, with rather wide lapels, the pockets and the huge bell bottoms trimmed with faux leopard print, a dashing red fedora with a long blue plume stuck in it. He said something, then took a big swig of sake, then said something to the effect of him not wanting to be able to see by the end of the night.
This is a scary: Monday night is sushi, disco and karaoke. Vintage 70’s music was playing, a little too loud. See: this place has been, for the last few years a quiet refuge, a place to get decent Japanese and Korean cuisine on a week night with minimal, however good, ambiance. Muted, one of those places tucked away in a strip mall, serviceable, with none of the trappings, nor the expense, of a fancy place.
For a Pisces, I would have to suggest that sushi makes tolerable good comfort food. Usually makes good bait, too. As the evening wore on, a group of recent graduates from The University [that would be UT> joined their table to ours and the party hit full-speed. “I hope you don’t mind us joining you,” the Scorpio asked. “One, two, five girls and Kramer? It’s not a problem!” The Pisces responded.
Scorpio, Taurus, one Sag guy, a red-headed Capricorn, and a Gemini. Plus me and the Pisces. Well, what did you expect?
We cut out shortly thereafter. Karaoke is a scarier proposition at best, and drunken young men singing badly, off key, out of harmony and with miserable backup music just doesn’t get it. It was entertaining. Very entertaining. Reminds me why I don’t even pretend to sing, too.
