Days of cheap sushi

Dawn and I, walking to the neighborhood sushi restaurant from our rental apartment. The little place on the corner, people cueing on the outside. The kitchen is so small, they must have six in there. Everyone is huddled over their tables, leaning-in over their teas and small bowls. We sit and dream there, The Good Life, with a twinkle and a smile, holding hands.

On our walk home we pass the houses we dream about and their yards, their cars. Days of waiting, now they’re gone: no more waiting, they just called our table.

About pinklightsabre

William Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
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