Eating Out
Oct. 5th, 2004 04:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
benchiladaThe first few sentences of this had been sitting in my Yellow Notebook of Doom for about three weeks now. My friend Shannon and I will be eating sushi and watching the original, uncut Godzilla at the local art house tomorrow night, so I figured I'd finish this off. Be gentle, I didn't correct as I typed, I just spat out enough words for it to have a middle and an end instead of just a beginning.
I'm having to beat the next part of Receiver into shape, but it'll show up someday.
------
I’m waiting patiently for Teika to finish making my order here at SUSHI BASTARD. He’s the only one I trust to prepare my food, mainly because of the open sores on his face. It’s the employees without them that clearly have something to hide.
On my way here I put quarters into four parking meters and gave another four to a homeless guy who was kind enough to insist that he would be using it on gin. He was also kind enough to not lift up his baseball bat.
It’s raining again, even though it wasn't supposed to. I can tell because the old break in my toe is aching, pulsating in my CheWz™ (“The Shoes with BITE!”). The owner is laughing at a couple who were unlucky enough to choose a booth under a leak in the ceiling. Now he’s damning their unborn children to what I roughly translate as “the Hell of the Mountain of Blades” if they move to another seat. The woman is crying, and the man is trying desperately to look tough, no mean feat when an ancient Japanese fucker is staring you down with a handful of steak knives in a fastball wind-up.
This was where she and I ate on our first date. From what little I knew of her, I figured she’d appreciate this place. Sure, she looked at me funny when I ordered the sake cold. When I explained that when it was warm here it was because they’d just pissed in it, she smiled.
That night is still perfectly preserved in my mind. The way her eyes sparkled when the waiter told her that for someone so pretty, they’d use fresh fish. The leather-clad biker getting worked over by schoolgirls with kendo sticks for leaving half of his rice uneaten. The soup that inexplicably smelled like a new car.
I try not to think about her when I come here, but it’s hard not to when the staff keeps saying, “Where’s your pretty lady, asshole? She don't like assholes?” I kicked one of the bastards in the shin but he just laughed and banged his fist against his prosthetic leg. I decided there were better places for me to be tonight.
After wolfing down my gyoza and unagi don, I left a few dead June bugs as a tip and wondered why the old man behind the counter was just grinning at me instead of hitting me as I paid the tab.
By the time I made it outside, I realized it was probably because he had seen that all four tires on my car were ablaze. Nice trick, what with the rain and all...
------
benjamin
CURRENT MUSIC: "British Columbia," The Elected
(http://www.theelected.com, download "Greetings in Braille" and "Go On")
LAST MOVIE: MEAN GIRLS
CURRENT BOOK: CONFESSIONS OF AN ENGLISH OPIUM EATER by Thomas de Quincy
I'm having to beat the next part of Receiver into shape, but it'll show up someday.
------
I’m waiting patiently for Teika to finish making my order here at SUSHI BASTARD. He’s the only one I trust to prepare my food, mainly because of the open sores on his face. It’s the employees without them that clearly have something to hide.
On my way here I put quarters into four parking meters and gave another four to a homeless guy who was kind enough to insist that he would be using it on gin. He was also kind enough to not lift up his baseball bat.
It’s raining again, even though it wasn't supposed to. I can tell because the old break in my toe is aching, pulsating in my CheWz™ (“The Shoes with BITE!”). The owner is laughing at a couple who were unlucky enough to choose a booth under a leak in the ceiling. Now he’s damning their unborn children to what I roughly translate as “the Hell of the Mountain of Blades” if they move to another seat. The woman is crying, and the man is trying desperately to look tough, no mean feat when an ancient Japanese fucker is staring you down with a handful of steak knives in a fastball wind-up.
This was where she and I ate on our first date. From what little I knew of her, I figured she’d appreciate this place. Sure, she looked at me funny when I ordered the sake cold. When I explained that when it was warm here it was because they’d just pissed in it, she smiled.
That night is still perfectly preserved in my mind. The way her eyes sparkled when the waiter told her that for someone so pretty, they’d use fresh fish. The leather-clad biker getting worked over by schoolgirls with kendo sticks for leaving half of his rice uneaten. The soup that inexplicably smelled like a new car.
I try not to think about her when I come here, but it’s hard not to when the staff keeps saying, “Where’s your pretty lady, asshole? She don't like assholes?” I kicked one of the bastards in the shin but he just laughed and banged his fist against his prosthetic leg. I decided there were better places for me to be tonight.
After wolfing down my gyoza and unagi don, I left a few dead June bugs as a tip and wondered why the old man behind the counter was just grinning at me instead of hitting me as I paid the tab.
By the time I made it outside, I realized it was probably because he had seen that all four tires on my car were ablaze. Nice trick, what with the rain and all...
------
benjamin
CURRENT MUSIC: "British Columbia," The Elected
(http://www.theelected.com, download "Greetings in Braille" and "Go On")
LAST MOVIE: MEAN GIRLS
CURRENT BOOK: CONFESSIONS OF AN ENGLISH OPIUM EATER by Thomas de Quincy
