Seema rubbed her aching temples as it dawned on her that this language was going to be a struggle. Even the letters were different. But she had to learn or she would be sent back to Iran, no matter what faced her back home.
Slamming her book on the marble bar, Seema went to call the proprietor for another G&T, but he was gone.

Spinning on her barstool, her eyes found the back of the barman’s head, which was moving steadily towards the Red Cube. The door opened and a young man with dark curls walked through, accompanied by the sweet music of a violin. They cornered a rather plain girl with auburn hair. Seema strained her ears like she had before she was found out by the government.

“Why are you here, Jess?” The barman’s voice had a faint Greek accent.
“Excuse me,” the young man hissed. “We are in a private conversation, here.”
“Not anymore,” the girl laughed, pulling a gun from her clutch. Pointing it at the two men she yelled. “Everybody on the floor!” She grinned maniacally. “This is my show.”