You didn’t need a reservation for Wren, but you would in three days. The waiter set Charlie’s grilled oysters down between the critic and a pale American ale from Fifth Hammer in Queens. With the window glass removed, May breezes ruffled the hibiscus centerpiece.
The foodies had sniffed out Mark Wren like a truffle, and the word on their lips was “perfection.” The wizard was 23 and reportedly slept in his office. Charlie was 53 and hadn’t discovered anyone in a decade. He savored paprika butter, the sprigs of fresh herbs. One was an eyelash. It was delicious with hibiscus.
Sara Harvey is a writer and comic artist in Brooklyn, New York. Her work has been featured in The Rumpus, Hobart Pulp, Spiralbound, The Belladonna, The Junction and other places. Visit her at saraharvey.xyz, and on Instagram at @ambivalent_sun. Twitter: @SaraHarvy.
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