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The Flying Fish Restaurant on 14th Street. Alice sat on a stool at the long bar-table facing out of a window onto the sidewalk. The seafood and vegetable dish in front of her was the opposite of a Mayflower lunch. And she was relieved to get something inside her that wouldn't bring back the gluten swells.
Alice rarely ate anywhere during conventional lunch hours. She preferred the later afternoon, with its quieter atmosphere and quicker service. Inside the restaurant, it was a blend of traditional Japanese and slick Western franchise. A knife and fork laid out, just in case.
Alice worked her chopsticks like a pro, the result of many trips to her local Pittsburgh sushi bar. Plus, the fling with a Japanese major league player.
With gray skies casting a shadow over the busy city street
