7 miles (Garlic Seabass)

It's hard to estimate, but I reckon, I can provide an accurate figure, of the amount of M&Ms I swallowed when we returned from our hike.  Four to seven, six to eight—somewhere in that sequence of numbers, a lone figure surely lies.  These chocolate candies covered a peanut; some of them were black.  What's more, there were two lone pieces of Mini-Hershey's, who were friends.  I later returned, and ate three more of their friends from their inner circle.  In between that, I had Thai, in Thai Town, with my own good friends.  I forgot to use the sauces.  Let me say that again—there were four—I forgot to use the sauces.  Let me repeat, with some hesitancy: when we were presented our plates full of dish, I rushed to the main course of action.  Let me be more clear: I'm wont to eat alone.  I panicked.  These guys aren't my parents; I kept fighting the urge to tell them to cut up my portions.  Them, big as construction laborers—What if there's nothing left while I'm forklifting the rice to my plate?  The white grains, the meat and potatoes of the entrée I envisioned designing.  The balancing, the panic, the blankets of grain spilling over the plate like peasants off the pier who couldn't reach the ship; I put my hands on my head and started bawling.  Tears crashed upon the glass, like aristocrats splashing into the water.  One elbow slid off the corner of the table. Underneath the glass, the white tablecloth swung dull and limp.  I looked up: that had given them more time to eat all the food!  No one tried to comfort me so that I would push their hand away and turn my face. I kept screaming at them, screaming—I was screaming and pleading, Stop it!  Stop it!  There's going to be none left for me! and they kept going, near done nearing all the portions I was to be eating.  So I looked around, all their heads were down; their eyes dead in ecstasy, their fat mouths full of food, flavor—and what's this?  They're shoveling in more food!  So I slapped my face, slapped my chest, clotheslined the ref, and slapped my face again and said, Wipe that trout right off your face! and jumped into that sweet, blistering rat race.  I was full before I even knew it, sat back and complimented the cushion on my chair—my lounging chair, as it were.  I couldn't wait to have my puff pastry stick, so I threw in some cash on the table when we split the square check, and told them, That's nearly all of it.  When they pursued me at the door for the tip, I said, Lay off me, I'm a child of divorce.