Broth by Diana Evans

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Three friends go out for dinner in this story by Diana Evans, but are they all ready to share?

In the end they decided to go to Bone Daddies. It was full of mist and people and shichimi and chicken stock. Outside Soho was wrapped in ice, so cold it was invisible, all vapour and city lights. Halfway through her ramen Tanya said she wanted to go out dancing afterwards because she never went dancing any more, it was a grave loss from her life, and Sheri agreed she hadn’t been lately. Elise was noncommittal, saying she needed to get her eight hours.

“Sleep is overrated,’ Tanya said. “We need less as we get older. I can manage on five now.”

“I bet that’s a myth. My dad sleeps until noon every day and he’s eighty-seven.”

“Really?” Elise said. “Eighty-seven?”

They were on high bar stools by the wall and everything around them seemed young – the voices, the colours, the faces, the waiters.

“You just have a lot of energy, Tanya,” Sheri said. “You have that superhuman ability to never show tiredness. I have suitcases under my eyes – look at them. I’m thinking about getting some work done.”

“Don’t. Don’t do it,” Tanya said.

“I’m thinking about it.”

“You’ll regret it.”

“Have you already had something done?” Elise asked. “There’s something different about you. I can’t put my finger on it.”

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