Lunchtime

The lunchtime food court table wasn't typical, shared seating, and a clear view of everyone's selections. It was 1972 in Los Angeles, both malls with food courts and sushi were new.

A guy sits down across from Rodger with a plate of fish on rice, ginger, wasabi, chopsticks in paper wrapper. Wasn't much food, Rodger noted, as the man drizzled a packet of soy sauce.

Rodger, always the annoying type who had no sense whatsoever of appropriateness or decorum, blurts out, "You don't worry about that?" The man stares, but doesn't reply. "Raw fish? I mean, the bacteria?", Rodger continued, blithely unaware of his intrusion.

The other guy smiles, looks at Rodger's salad. "And you? You don't worry about eating something named after a murderous Roman dictator who thought himself a god?"

Rodger looked down at his lunch. He knew he should have gotten the Cobb.