Justis Mills

Posted on August 1, 2011

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Sushi Dissolves

We started with the complicated rolls: Spider, Tsunami, Sexy Man. The last of these was sprinkled with sexy sauce, but the joke was too obvious. We had better material. We both got Thai tea, miso soup. That part was the ritual. Maybe the rolls didn’t matter, so long as these came first.

It wasn’t that we couldn’t afford them, later. I think I started to worry that it was all about the soy sauce. I dipped furiously. No wasabi. No chopsticks. All the rolls tasted the same, liberally doused. There was fried and there was not fried, and shrimp tempura in between.

I gave in to simple rolls. I needed money for things. She joked I should buy a stripper pole. Was she joking? I got straight tuna. Not yellowtail. There were standards. I dipped the tuna in and it was just as good, and half the price. Once or twice I skimped on Thai tea. I’m not proud, but money was tight. We were tight.

The waiters never remembered us. I hope that’s why we tapered off.

***

Justis Mills edits First Stop Fiction. His work has appeared in Ramshackle Review, Leaf Garden, the Bicycle Review, and elsewhere. He was recently infatuated with sunglasses, though he may be no longer. Time will tell. Feel free to email him for almost any reason at justis.d.mills@gmail.com.

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