"This has to be the best damn vegan restaurant on this coast."

"Perhaps, Oscar, but have you been to Seattle?"

"Berkeley, Otis my man, Berkeley. That's where it's at. Always was. Probably always will be."

"Perhaps so, but the East Bay ain't San Francisco. The Castro has some way out places to eat too, you know."

Oscar squinted at his tablemate, thought of a few wisecracks but squelched them. "Nah. Just not the same."

"You've been here a long time," Otis said. "You've made a career out of the sixties thing. Never got beyond the social stuff. Making a living from different causes seems an unusual profession, although it was nice of you to walk in the AIDS walk-a-thon for me."

"You're right I guess, about becoming a professional protester. Sure beats the nine to five thing, though. Pass the pepper and salt please."

"You seem to be attacking your food like a Lent-fasted Catholic. You must be famished," Otis said. "You've got some dressing on your beard."

"Not really. I'm going to Kaiser Hospital in the morning for a few blood tests." He wiped his mouth with his napkin. "I've not been feeling my usual high energy, extroverted self lately." He pushed a mound of soybean product onto his fork. "I've been easily bushed lately. The doc said I have to show up at the lab at ten o'clock without having eaten anything so he can get a fasting blood sample. And besides, this salad is supreme." Oscar swirled his latté and gulped a mouthful.

Otis pushed back from the little table. "Okay. I'm out of here." He drained his decaf. "I've got to get back to the city to meet Ralph. We're bar hopping tonight." Otis sashayed through the restaurant door waving over his shoulder.

After Oscar's blood letting at the lab the next morning he went to his studio on Shattuck Street instead of to brunch.

"Geeze, my head feels like its two feet off my neck. I've given blood before, what's wrong?" He put the palm of his hand to his temple and tapped his head. In the bathroom, he searched his reflection in the mirror for answers. "I wonder why Dr. Schwaltz spent so much time with the stethoscope listening to my chest? I'm gonna lie down."

Oscar jerked into consciousness from the sharp buzzing that joggled his brain. The telephone's angry noise seemed to surround his bed.

"Hello, Oscar? It's Dr. Schwaltz. We have to talk. You've got a problem."

Oscar met his friend Otis in his favorite restaurant in Berkeley. They sat opposite each other again at tiny a round table in the furthest corner.

"Okay, I'm here. What's with all the hurry-hurry? What's wrong? This isn't your favorite table. I've changed earrings. What do you think?"

"Otis, listen. I've got a load of bad news. My doctor tells me I've got poor circulation around my heart."

"What?" Otis screeched. He slammed to the back of the chair, mouth locked open, staring in a comedic, melodramatic frozen expression. After a pause he leaned forward and whispered, "What's the matter?" His eyes widened with sorrowful expectation.

"I'm gonna need an operation."

"Jesus, Oscar. What kind of an operation?" Otis's mouth remained locked open.

"A bypass. They're gonna have to replace my heart vessels. They're plugging up."

"But you don't eat meat and all that cholesterol stuff."

"It's my genes, man. My whole family has poor coronary circulation. My dad died when I was just a kid and I've a younger brother that has had the operation already. But as you know, that's not why I don't eat meat."

"Yeah. You feel bad for the animals."

"Yup. I've spent most of my life saving all those chickens and cows by being a vegan. And don't get me started on the veal calves."

"You mean factory farming?"

"Don't get me started, I said."

Otis grinned. "Okay. I guess I won't even mention those little laboratory animals. His hands gestured like flapping wings. Well anyway, Oscar. I'm sorry about your situation. Thanks for sharing, but I've got to run. Ronald is taking me out tonight."

"Ronald? What happened to Ralph?"

"Oh, he's okay. I just want more. I gotta go. Good luck with your surgery." Otis skipped among the tables and on out the door.

Oscar watched his friend fade out of sight on the sidewalk. He felt his strength fade as well. He studied his double latté and felt the circles under his eyes contract. A slight tightness in his chest chilled him. He became lost in his thoughts.

Geeze. From what Dr. Schwaltz said, I'll be on a heart-lung machine while they implant the new vessels. Me, an animal "rights" protester all my life, protesting all that biomedical research with all those lab animals. And now I'm gonna have to be a part of the results of that research? I could forget the whole thing I suppose.

In Dr. Schwaltz's office, Oscar asked, "What happens if I decide not to go through with the operation?"

The doctor lowered his head, looked at the floor, his half-glasses slid down the bridge of his nose. Deep lines formed on his forehead. He turned to Oscar. "Are you afraid of the knife, Oscar?"

"No, not really, Doc. I want to know my options, that's all. What happens to me with those options?"

"Well, that's an unusual question. Do you have any religious, cultural or other barriers to medical practice?"

"Well, I've always been against research using animals. It just never felt fair to me to use animals for anything. For food, skin, fur or even research."

"So, you have a philosophical bias against advances in medicine where animals were involved."

"Yup. That's right."

"I see. Okay, but I'm convinced you will have a vastly improved quality of life and a longer one, after the surgery. And, as with anything, there are no guarantees. If you elect to not go through with it, I feel confident that you will become very uncomfortable, be unable to exert yourself and would be at an increased risk of a heart attack as time goes on."

"I thought that's what you'd say. Kinda knew that."

"And I suppose you also know that the heart-lung machine was researched and developed using laboratory dogs, sheep and other animals?"

"Yes. I remember protesting that pharmaceutical company in Yonkers New York in the early days. They were dealing with, I guess it was oxygenation and the animal's blood foaming in the apparatus, causing bubble problems in the system."

"And they finally got it right, Oscar. It's perfected, as you know."

After a lengthy pause, the dead air between them was filled with Oscar's sigh and comment. "I sure hope so."