Cyborg Somms

By Luis Romero “Freedom,” Marco reads the word, written in quotation marks, on his chit. Two women are seated at one of the clamshell booths, lit from above and covered in shiny red velvet. “Good evening, ladies,” Marco says, cocking his head and letting his hair fall across his cheekbone. “May I ask what you are celebrating tonight? I see a cake with the word freedom on it, correct?” “Hello, Marco. Marie here. Barbra just got divorced. Forty years was enough torture. Right, Barb? I ordered the cake, because you start a marriage with cake, you should end it the same way.” Marco tilts his head like a confused puppy. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he says out of gut instinct, looking at Barbra. “Nothing to be sorry about,” Marie says, trying to lighten the mood. “She is free!” Marco’s eyes lock on Barbra as she lowers her eyebrows in acknowledgement. “We want to order Champagne. What do you r

by Hilary Berg · source ↗