poke eye (Seoul, Korea)

And it was in the cab that Hee-Sung asked if I wanted sushi.

I never turn down sushi. He spoke in Korean to the cab driver and turned to me and said, “I am going to take you to the Fish Market.”

“Wow, that’s fresh.”

“Of course.”

As we got a block away, I smelled the Fish Market. I said to be funny, “This must be where cats go to die.”

He looked confused. “I am sorry?”

“Cats must love this place.” I simplified.

“Cats?” he asked again still translating my words.

I laughed at my own joke and shook my head. “No worries.”

He insisted on paying for the taxi. “This is my town. You take care of me in Hong Kong, okay?”

“I always do.” I said.

And we walked through the big warehouse doors and the massive empty enclosed parking area, and just beyond was the rows of see through water glass tanks and aquariums. They were all brimming with all kinds of sea life. It was like a majority of the ocean was in jail here. Incarcerated for crimes of the aquatic variety.

As we started walking down the rows and rows of fish bowls where fish were swimming on top of each other, octopi stacked on top of each other, and fish I had never seen before – that looked like the bottoms of the ocean where they only had one eye looking at you, Hee-Sung stopped his fast gait and waited for me. He always walked like he was in a hurry and out front. Often leaving me behind and suddenly remembering that he was walking with someone and stopping.

“So what kind of sushi you want?”

I suck at knowing what sushi I like. I just pluck the sushi that looks the cutest on the little boats that float by at the sushi restaurants. So I said the first sushi type that I thought of, “Okay, how about sashimi?”

And Hee-Sung nodded and was suddenly gone. I tried to chase after. And little did I know that with uttering that one word, “sashimi” I had become a murderer.

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