Cora has not been to a bar since the Before Times. It’s only been a month since bars were cleared to reopen, and Cora still feels a bit like she’s standing on a land mine. Even though they’re technically outdoors, the temporary plywood plexiglass structure feels like a tiny room and she can taste the spit of all the other customers in the air. The bartender wears a mask and makes a show of sterilizing the glasses in a blue light box, but Cora still hates the grime of the barstool seat against her bare legs, the greasy table under her elbows. She sanitizes her hands again, even though she isn’t
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