Walk Down Misery Street

The sushi boat suddenly appeared on the table, thanks to the waitress. It held a variety of rolls and sashimi.

“Is your resume done already?” my aunt asked.

“Yes, of course.”

“Do you want my help with getting a job? There are no openings now in my clinic. But I know the manager in another outpatient. I could ask him to talk to their director.”

“Sure thing, do it. If I get a job, then I’ll owe you another sushi bar.”

We had more sake. My dear aunt taught me how to use chopsticks instead of a fork. Sake warmed us on the inside, and on the deck of the food boat there were fewer and fewer rice balls and salmon pieces.

The waiter brought the check. I paid for our fine dinner, while my aunt added seven bucks for the tip.

We left the bar when it was already dark. Slowly we went to the subway down the square. We were both feeling loose and relaxed on this warm autumn evening.

“Oh, Peter, it’s so nice being with you, a real feast for the soul!” she said, taking my arm. She pressed her breast against my shoulder.

It occurred to me that she might want to continue the “soul feast” at my house.

“I want to tell you something. I am going through a hard time now; I am divorcing from my husband. He cheated on me.” She kept silent for a while. “While I was going to meet with you today, I wished to fuck you. I assumed I would feel better then. I feel ashamed to reveal this. So silly, isn’t it?”

I said nothing.

“But I changed my mind. I wouldn’t do it.” She suddenly stopped and, embracing my head, lifted herself to her tiptoes and kissed me on the lips. “Thank you, Pete.”

“For what?’

“I spent a couple hours with you at the bar, relaxed little bit, and felt like a lady.”