““It’s actually the same,” said Frank, stating the obvious, as if Muriel wasn’t aware, “as your digitized cafeteria. These types of places are a cousin to that technological development. Economies of unthinkably vast scale allow the production of cheap, unsubtle food that overrides your limbic system with heavy, carnal signals so as to hide its exact resemblance to slow-acting poison. And this so-called food is served to you by a member of an underclass practically invisible to you, untouchable by you, unspeakable to except perhaps to complain and unspeakable of except perhaps to yourself with subconscious and subvocalized disdain, and yet, almost needless to say, a person whose destiny could have been exchanged for your own but for capricious circumstance. And this meal, so-called, once placed on a tray for you to take to your seat, will be eaten within an almost indestructible yet disposable shelter composed of polyurethanes, petrochemicals, fiberglass, and the occasional piece of metal—restaurant castles, in other words, that rival geodesic domes in their modular, architectural ingeniousness.””
