Trays of succulent raw oysters, steamed crab, clams, fish and chips, and spicy seafood soup are invitingly laid upon our small wooden table by the window that looks over the King Harbor and the Pacific Ocean. The crowd is sparse this Saturday afternoon. Few men and women dotted along the pier with their fishing rods, hoping for their big catch. A large pelican perched itself on the wooden railing, drawing a small crowd of onlookers. As I take in the view of the pier, all that there is left on the oyster plate is a mountain of empty hard shells.

"I told you not to wander off your spacey mind, now the oysters are all gone."

"Maybe you should chew your food first before speaking," retorted I, half jokingly.

This lazy Saturday, the four of us, including N., took a short drive to Redondo Beach and rewarded ourselves with heaps of every imaginable seafood, washing them down with a bottle of Korean soju. I am usually not much of a drinker of soju, but given the consensus opinion among the three other diners I gave in. After a few shots a slight buzz is already lurking in the back of my brain.

"Drink, drink. We can't order second if you don't finish your glass," N. urges on, while herself is unfazed by the onslaught of alcohol, and her two friends nodded in general agreement. Are you kidding me? I thought in the back of my mind. And before I know it, a second bottle found its way to our table.


After way too many clams and way too much alcohol, we took a leisure walk around the pier. The large pelican changed its standing position a few feet down the railing, but still oblivious to the minor stardom it has gathered. The weather is mild, not a cloud over our head, and the clear blue sky formed a tender contrast to the emerald green sea. We stood against the railing, watching the vicious wave pounding against the shoreline. The occasional sea breeze rustled my drowsy head. The four of us stood in parallel, gazing into the distance where the sea and the sky meet, and each of us formed our own independent thought, perhaps about the future, about the present, or about how to proceed in life. But midway through my inward brooding, the refluent alcohol flustered my train of thought. It hurts to think.