I am so not awake this morning. I was going to do a post about going to Alamo this weekend, but I’m too tired. Here is some Mad Rogan for you. He isn’t really a dragon. He just reminds Nevada of one.
Takara’s website described it as an Asian Bistro, which in reality meant that they specialized in delicious sushi and had a couple of traditional Chinese and Korean dishes on the menu. The restaraunt occupied a large, modern building, all heavy brown stone and big windows. As I walked through the door, an eight-foot wall fountain greeted me. The color palette was creamy beiges and rich browns with a touch of metallic bronze here and there. The colors, the gentle sound of water, and the tasteful decor were soothing, yet the hostess in front of me and the three sushi chefs behind the counter looked distinctly freaked out.
I looked over the dark brown tables and saw Mad Rogan, wearing a grey suit over a white shirt opened at the collar. He sat toward the back, by the oversized bamboo shoots in a tall black floor vase. I knew the table. It let you look outside through the window, but the passersby couldn’t really see you clearly. It was the least noticeable table on the floor, but now it might as well be in on fire in the middle of the room. Mad Rogan was extremely difficult to ignore. He sat quietly, a well-dressed, well-mannered dragon, hiding his teeth and on his best behavior. Nobody was fooled. The place was empty, except for two young women and a middle-aged couple, and all four pretended their hardest not to watch him.
I asked a friend to read some of it this weekend. She said, “I loved Neva, but omg Mad Rogan, I think Hugh may have competition for bad ass psycho!” Bad-ass psychos, we got them. Get yours while he’s hot.
Sorry, I’ve got nothing. Ask me something interesting, maybe then I’ll make an interesting post.