I’m not particularly adventurous when it comes to what I put in my stomach. If I’m going to eat something it should ideally be cheap, cheesy and deep fried. My ex used to drag me to all kinds of weird hipster and/or exotic places. I’d do my best to seem unbothered by the prospect of spending forty bucks on something that looked like it had been barfed up by my cat. When she suggested we go to the new hibachi place downtown I expected more of the same. I’m not going to say the name here because no one around town is going to believe me and I don’t need to be sued for libel or whatever. Anyway, my girlfriend at the time and I went to try the hibachi place one Saturday evening. I ordered the rice and shrimp. It was actually not half bad. By not half bad I mean I barely managed to keep myself from openly licking the plate.
It kind of became our thing. We’d go there at least once every other week. I was feeling adventurous one day when I decided to try their sushi. I ordered something called the Spicy Spirit roll. The menu didn’t state what was in it but my waiter, who was this chubby little white dude named Chad, or maybe it was Kevin, said it was to die for. The sushi showed up. I struggled with the chopsticks for a minute before giving in and piercing a piece with my fork. I popped it in my mouth and all of the sudden it was like I was having my first orgasm again. Needless to say, I fell in love with that sushi. It became my go-to snack. I used to drive over every day during my lunch break.
The funny thing was I wasn’t an anomaly. I seemed to always see the same people day after day ordering that same sushi. It became a bit of an obsession for me. When I wasn’t eating, I was thinking about it. Focusing on anything else became incredibly difficult. My relationship suffered. We ended up breaking up. I honestly don’t remember caring at all. She took her shit and left and that was that. I worked at a comic book shop at the time. It is so hard to get fired from a comic book shop but, as it turns out, not impossible. I simply had to take super long lunch breaks halfway across town every single day and completely zone out for ten or twenty minutes at a time while customers tried to ask me questions. It was two months after the sushi entered my life that I lost my job. Another month and half later, I was kicked out of my shitty apartment and started staying on a friend’s couch.
For awhile, I managed to scrape together enough money for the Spirit rolls. Then the money ran out altogether and I was living on borrowed Ramen. After only a week or two, the pain started. It was like my body had been filled with metal balls and I was now getting the shit beaten out of me by a man made of magnets and hate. I threw up a lot and got cold sweats. The only thing I could think about was that sushi and getting more of it. One night, I took this black switchblade I always carry with me and I went back to the restaurant. I entered through this little unlocked door in the back which employees used to get to their cars and step out for smoke breaks.
I didn’t want to hurt anyone. The knife was just to make sure they wouldn’t stop me. I burst inside. I couldn’t believe what I was doing but I did it. Suddenly, I was faced with something much more unbelievable. There were tanks taller than me lining the walls of the kitchen. Inside the tanks there were maybe a dozen people floating submerged in water. Well, they weren’t really people I guess but they sure as hell looked like people. They were very emaciated with deep-set eyes like those pictures you see of prisoners in concentration camps. They were all female in appearance with long black or red hair and small but clearly visible breasts. Drawing attention from their chests were large dark black or brown scaly fish tails which twisted and writhed as if in agony.
One of them was strapped to a table in front of me. An old Steve Buscemi-looking motherfucker held a knife to her throat. I dropped my own knife to the ground. I wish I could say that I tried to help or that I was going to but the truth is I just wanted to run. A young guy grabbed me from behind and threw me into the alleyway. I fell onto my back. He repeatedly kicked me in the stomach before walking back into the kitchen. I heard a bolt slide on the other side. The door was locked. I left in a hurry and never went back. The pain subsided after a few months. I don’t think the craving ever will. I will go to my grave desiring that horrific and impossible Spicy Spirit roll.
Written by Gomez Capulet