Oh, Crazy Sushi. You’re so…well…crazy. Getting us all liquored up on beer and sake (Unfiltered! In stylish glass decanters! Who could resist?), letting our rowdy 30th-birthday-bash bunch take over your whole restaurant on no notice, and priming us for a night of debauched revelry with your naughtily named Lesbionic Roll (Didn’t I try that in college?) and your Black Magic Woman (Crab, BBQ eel, avocado, cucumber, black caviar and that special spicy sauce, all to make a devil out of us...).
I’d like to blame you for the way we bulldozed through The Transfer after we left you, for the horrific game of pool I somehow managed to win, for the “What? Are we 22?” after-party that went way too late.
But I can’t. Because it’s probably thanks to you and your insanely good food that we didn't end up even worse off than we did.
So thank you, Crazy Sushi. You saved our (aging) asses.
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