Mr. Sushi

The woman on the airport shuttle from DFW keeps apologizing. She alternates, actually, she apologizes and then she blesses us. We will be blessed for taking her into this shuttle. She has been turned down by seventeen drivers, she says, the cab drivers say her destination is too close and the shuttle drivers say it's out of the way. If it weren't for her luggage and her shoes, she says, she'd have walked there. It's that close, she says. Except that everything is different. She's been away for four years, girl, and she's back for ten days, and they've changed the airport and the onramps and the roads all around it, and you know what she misses? The Whataburgers. They don't have those in Venice, Florida. They don't have crime there either, you know—zero. But really what she wants is Mexican food. They don't have that in Florida, either. A lot of gray-haireds in Florida, you know, amazing sunrises and sunsets and beaches, I love the beaches, but there's no Mexican food. And the best sushi anywhere is right here, right here in Dallas, look over there, it's over there, right off the freeway. Are you looking? Man, that's good stuff. Old school. Not kitschy, not retro, but old school. Every guy at Mr. Sushi has been there twelve, fourteen, fifteen, twenty years. I don't want this new age stuff—is this flower edible or not, you know, I mean forget it. Just give me the fish. Y'all like sushi? You gotta go. You have got to go! I've sent fifty, a hundred people there, and you know what? They keep going back. Brad's like, these people, they keep coming back, and I'm like, of course they do. This is the best sushi anywhere. You tell Brad: Ms. B said to hook you up!! Really, I'm so sorry for this. Bless y'all.