Hopping over a pile of dirty snow, I arrived on a frigid February evening at a wine bar in midtown, a purple neon sign reading “EVA AI cafe.” Inside, several people were seated at tables and booths, staring at phones. Servers milled about, placing mini potato croquettes and nonalcoholic spritzers on each table. Like many New York City bars, the majority of the patrons were on a date.
Unlike every other bar, half of the dates weren’t human.
As I enter, I’m shown to a table tucked away…
