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A cyborganic young girl sidles to the bar, climbs up onto the high stool as a squirrel does a perch. Her awkward demeanour belies a stealthy footstep. The girl opens a blue canvas purse, removes a glowing coin, drops it in the kiosk. The robot barkeep spins over, its face a CRT of a Max Headroom homage version of George W. Bush.
Welcome. Buenas noches. What’ll yyyyou have?
Um... An eggcream, thanks. Soy milk and heavy on the mit Gass.
Alright, Gggirlie-girl. One librul freedomcream coming up.
Eggcream, not freedomcream, Dubya. But thanks.
The girl closes her eyes. She sits silently as The robot mixes seltzer, chocolate, and soy milk.
Your freedomcream, Girlie-girl. Mmmmission accomplished.
Thanks, Dubya.
The girl sips at the eggcream, as a 1980’s cybernetic George W. Bush waits in attendance.
You mixed it well. It has a nice froth and the fizzy is thick. Next time, please use a darker cocoa chocolate?
You got it, Girlie-girl. Wwwe aim to please. Anything else?
No, I don’t think so.
...
These are the times which try men’s souls. Eggcream is the proof it’s worth it. The proof in the pudding. You grok?
I misunderestimate wwwhat you’re saying, Girlie-girl; but I’m glad you enjoy the freedomcream.
Here’s to Brooklyn, Dubya. That’s what I’m saying. Here’s to Brooklyn.
-EOF-
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I think I'll try an eggcream myself. And one for Smudge, please, but hold the chocolate on his.
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