The all-you-can-eat hour was upon us.  At 2:30 p.m., Sushi World was going to close for a siesta.  We arrived at 2:05, which didn’t give us much time to eat all we could. 

    As we got out of our car, a skinny homeless man came up to us and introduced himself as Mr. Andrew Mellon.  With as much dignity as he could muster, he began to explain that he was a veteran and down on his luck and unfortunately hungry, and would we be so kind as to spare some small assistance under the circumstances. 

    It was so hot in that parking lot, and Mr. Mellon was in such need, and we had so little time to get in and eat all we could, that we looked at each other and had to decide fast.  My son Carson sniffed.  I sniffed and noted that, surprisingly, Mr. Mellon did not seem to be too smelly.   

    “Mr. Mellon,” I said, “would you like to come in and eat some sushi with us?” 

    Mr. Mellon hesitated for a moment.  “I never had sushi,” he muttered, “but OK.  Thank you gentlemen, kindly.  Thank you very much.”  He grinned.  He had on a red, white, and blue vest covered with patches that looked like Boy Scout merit badges.  He proudly tugged on his vest as he sauntered into the restaurant with us.

    The staff of the sushi place was not happy to see Mr. Mellon in there, but I told them that it was OK, that he was with us.  All concerned knew that time was of the essence and that gobbling down sushi had to commence immediately.  It was a shock to go from the roasting parking lot into the freezing sushi place.  Mr. Mellon was very shy of the sushi, but we couldn’t wait around for him to get acclimated to the culture and the temperature.  We all had to start grabbing sushi and stuffing it in. 

    We ate in silence.  I hate to admit it, but my son Carson and I were used to rushing into Sushi World,  jamming down as much sushi as possible during the limited all-you-can-eat window of opportunity, and then popping back out into the toasty parking lot with tight bellies.  Carson is a strapping twenty-eight year old, and I’m not saying how old I am, but we both have years of Sushi World conditioning under our belts, and very much enjoy the sushi ritual.  Usually, when I come to town to visit Carson, we sneak out to Sushi World, then go rent a movie and get back into some air conditioning until we can digest the sushi and move again. 

    Poor Mr. Mellon was going from having nothing for two days, to having an unlimited quantity of something he had never dreamed of eating.  He was very polite.  We could tell he didn’t like the raw fish at all and was trying to just eat the rice bits without seeming like a coward.  He was a veteran after all.  It would not do for him to seem a coward, so he tried to stuff it in like a pro.  He was no match for us, and within five or six minutes, he began to weaken. 

    “Mr. Mellon, slow down, have a sip of tea or something,”  I suggested, but it was too late.  Mr. Mellon’s system just could not handle the shock.  He began to rock back and forth, his head drawing a circle in the air.  “Mr. Mellon, Mr. Mellon, are you OK?"   We began to shake him gently, but he lurched forward, his head falling into a giant plate of sushi. 

    I immediately called 911 on my cell phone.  I am proud of reacting so swiftly. Medics got there momentarily because as luck would have it, there was a fire station right next door.  I am not proud to say that I worried for a split second about who was going to pay for Mr. Mellon’s medical treatment, should any be required.  Once I hit a dog with the car, and took him to the vet, and ended up with $1,300 in medical bills and a dog that lived two weeks.  I was very ashamed of myself for having thoughts of that dog while the medics were working on Mr. Mellon.

    Despite the best efforts of very competent fire department medical personnel, Mr. Mellon expired right there in Sushi World.  The paramedics were somewhat familiar with Mr. Mellon since he had been hanging out in the parking lot next door to their building for a few days, but nobody really knew who he was.  They thought Carson and I were a little nutty for impulsively inviting him to eat with us.  They shook their heads.  “It takes all kinds,” they muttered, grinning.  They packed up Mr. Mellon, and I don’t know where they took him.

    Carson and I found ourselves once again in the 102 degree heat of the barren Sushi World parking lot.  Carson drove because I was shaking.  He pulled into the movie rental place.  I asked him what he was doing.  “A man just died over sushi I fed him,” I said.  “I can’t  just watch a movie as if nothing happened.”

    “Come on Dad.  It will make you feel better.  It’s part of the ritual.  Life goes on.”  He paused.  “Mr. Mellon would not have wanted you to skip the movie.  Come on Dad.  Do it for old Mr. Mellon.”  He patted me on the knee and poked me in the ribs.  And he was right.  It  did make me feel better to lie on the couch in Carson’s condo and watch the movie as part of the sushi ritual.