After a long night out drinking with a few friends, I decided to head over to the late-night sushi shop down the street from my house. As I approached, an elderly homeless man sat begging outside the door. “Anything helps mister.” I remember him saying. As I tried to ignore him, he chuckled and said, “That sushi fights back!” I continued on ordering my usual. After grabbing my order, I hurried back to my apartment, eager to devour all the raw fish in one sitting. As I bit into the first morsel, I felt my teeth shutter. I spat out a small bone. It was thick and cartilage was dangling from the end. I thought nothing of it and finished the roll without hesitation. Spitting a few other small bones as I worked my way through the other pieces. The next morning, still groggy from the night before, I turned on the television. There, on the local news, was the sushi shop I visited the night before. They were being raided by the local police. The headline read “Local Sushi Restaurant Found with Cadavers in Kitchen”. As my stomach already uneasy, began to churn and the vomit rise through my throat, I saw the homeless man from the night before on the tv. He was pointing and laughing into the camera. The realization that I had dined on the dead was starting to set in as the evening’s meal gained momentum. The eyes of the homeless man told me everything.
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