The sushi mixed well with the beer. The beer mixed great with the codeine. Eddie gazed at his spicy tuna roll, feeling something that approximated love.

Dig it: Mackerel nigiri. Spicy tuna roll. Salmon nigiri. Eddie looked down the bar to the right and saw fifteen people that couldn't possibly be feeling what he was feeling. They were all with their friends. They were all with their dates. They were all here for the good company. Eddie rolled his eyes—fuck that. Those people all had each other. They were all wasting a shitload of money on fancy-ass Japanese cuisine when they ought to be screwing in the bushes for free. But Eddie allowed himself this moment to shed all pretensions. He was here for the sushi, the whole sushi and nothing but the sushi. He brought a hefty slab of salmon up and in, closing his eyes as he began to slowly chew, savoring every tender sinew, every fucking molecule of that fish.

"Jesus Fucking Christ, thank you," he sighed. The husband and father next to him gave a startled glance, as if Eddie's expression of ecstasy was a threat to his daughter's cherry two seats over.

A hefty girl across the way looked up at Eddie over her Dragon Roll. She was obviously developing a fat girl idea in her fat girl head. She saw that Eddie was flying solo. He vibed lonely. He vibed lush. He vibed free meal for Miss Piggy if she played her cards right. Miss Piggy quickly popped the last piece of roll into her mouth, then stood and started approaching Eddie as she chewed. She sucked in her stomach but couldn't suck in her ass. Eddie finished his last bite and ordered another round and a beer.

Dig it: Rock 'n' Roll. Tuna nigiri. More salmon nigiri. Miss Piggy lowered herself into the chair on his left. She smiled beautifully from within her thick flesh mask.

"Excuse me, but can I ask what kind of roll you're eating?" She eyed his roll and crotch in turn.

"It's called a Rock 'n' Roll. It's got yellowtail and green onion, and a few other things. Best roll in town." He punctuated the remark by inhaling a large piece of the roll just described. The fat girl was silent a moment, but continued smiling. She had expected him to inject some flirtation into his response like most men did when she approached them, particularly in light of the fact that he had just downed a large bottle of Sapporo. Undeterred, she continued.

"I love sushi so much. I can't get enough of it." She eyed his groin as she spoke the latter sentence. Eddie regarded her quizzically and wondered if she noticed the fading spot of piss on his jeans. The location of the piss-leak revealed his dick to be small.

"You know you're a pretty fat girl," he offered.

"You're a fucking prick," she spat, startling Eddie. His tact-o-meter had turned itself off at some point. Now he realized his faux pas. Miss Piggy returned to her side of the bar in a huff. Eddie placed another order.

Dig it: Salmon hand roll. Bonito nigiri. A couple arrived—White guy, Asian girl. They sat down to his left. The white guy started talking yellow.

"Zai ni pangbian de ren haoxiang yi ge pigu dong." It was Chinese—Mandarin—and his accent was perfect. The girl with him spoke back in kind. Eddie tripped back to '95. Him and Xiao Bi. John and Yoko. Yin and fucking Yang. This couple reminded him of that; but they were different. The guy wasn't as good looking as he was. The girl wasn't as good looking as Xiao Bi was. Side-by-side they reminded him of buttered popcorn sprinkled with cowshit. But these two were still together. These two had something. Eddie stopped looking at them and went on to his next round.

Dig it: Another spicy tuna roll. Still more salmon nigiri. Add to this a stomach bursting at the seams. Eddie ate slowly and regarded each morsel of sushi with awe and respect before putting it down. Daddy had long since moved on, and now the seat to Eddie's right was occupied by another loner—a 40-ish guy in a suit, scoping the place out with wide eyes. He vibed lonely. He vibed lush. He vibed fag. Eddie waved down the chef.

"Masa, I'm finished here." Eddie got the check and paid it. With tip, the meal came out to $134.87—a new personal record for one-person expenditures. Eddie stood and began to leave. Oh, sweet Jesus—the booze and codeine were gang-fucking him six ways till Sunday. He staggered out to his Mustang and crawled in through the driver's side window. Parking lot hussies stopped their chattering to watch him lay sideways in the front of his car, staring at his cellphone. He wanted to call Janna. Odds were that she wouldn't be answering. Smart money said that Janna was with Joe. Smart money said that calling was a bad idea. Smart money created an analogy: Joe is to Janna as Janna is to Eddie.

Eddie drove remarkably well, all things considered. Upon returning to his apartment, he stumbled into the bathroom and took a sloppy piss. Then he sat his ass on the sink and took a quick, miserable come.

The End