I went to the other sushi joint on this little island. It has this 10 foot tall metal door like some kind of shrine or Masonic meeting place where I was not supposed to be opening doors without first giving the secret knock. I was going to go in there about 4 hours ago as I passed it on my bike. I almost hit this dude walking across the street arm-in-arm with some other dude, not paying attention to where he was going. I just kind of looked at him like "well, don't just stand there gawking at me, go." and he just kind of looked at me like "well, I'm quite high". Anyway, I guess the metal door (complete with neon) intimidated my sense of bluejeans, because I went home and got my black pinstripe collar-shirt and went back. Good thing, too, because it was like a California carrot-juice, apple-martini and oh-are-you-actually-paying-with-a-gold-card?-hmmmm bar. And who should stroll over and bumble his way to serving me but mister opium parlor himself; I dunno if he recognized me with the extra layer of clothing on. I ate some funny-sounding pseudo-staple things and oh sweet sassy molassy I wanted to get a platinum card the food was so good. And then I actually got dessert - some plum kind of ice cream. They brought it in a friggin' martini glass, and it was pink with a curvy little spoon. Every bite I took sapped one of my Y chromosomes, drifting their way upwards into the track lighting. And the bill was $75. I left the place feeling like I had wandered into some kind of "Eyes Wide Shut" party and been molested by all those rich pseudo-debauch esquires.
At least I satisfied my curiosity about what was behind the big metal door..