“I’ll have an absinthe, hold the sweet fennel as I’m right on the brink of Ketosis,” said 24-year old Earnest Hemingway to Jules Valar, his server-person-human who was currently transitioning gender-wise and also from back of house to front of house. Jules/Julie scribbled the order onto zie/hir/Two Spirit hemp Beaver Brand memo pad, making a mental note to purchase a less incendiary notebook when the next EBT card arrived. Valar (sorry, less familiar but easier on this writer) enjoyed the position at the recently rechristened “Cafe Au Lait” on Rue St. Rue the Day. Until a month ago known as “Café Olé,” it was then forced to rebrand after charges of cultural appropriation. Hemingway eyed the “Bearnaise Is Death” poster on the door of the pansexual W.C. before shifting his gaze to the tabletop placard warning patrons about capricious use of the Heimlich Come-On. He would soon carpool in a hybrid horse-drawn carriage (Appaloosa/Shetland for idling) to Montmartre to join Fitzgerald, Stein, Toklas, and Pound for a Smart Water or twelve — that is, if Pound could hurry through his hearing at the Academy of Weights and Measures where he was to show cause as to why he should not have
