“I can’t believe what people are doing these days,” said the operating room nurse. “A friend of a friend in Ohio had a double-sided collarbone transplant for nice cleavage, and that’s even before she altered her chest.” It’s crazy what people are doing to themselves. I’ve already heard of someone who had a facelift done to the back of her hand. Me, the only surgery I would be willing to do is a gaze transplant, but they haven’t invented such a surgery yet. If there was – I would want to do it.” And a second later she added wistfully, “Ahaha, if there was such a thing, a gaze transplant!”

“A gaze transplant?” Yaguda wondered, and a smile passed through his sad eyes that were tilted above the greenish mask, “For what? To see a better world?”

“No, professor. So that the gaze doesn’t reflect age. All plastic surgery of the face, and in my opinion all plastic surgery of the body, are useless as long as they haven’t invented a gaze transplant. The gaze betrays age. People don’t realize that. “You can see everything about a person in their gaze.”

“Interesting—interesting,” Yagoda tried to be nice, “and would it be possible to choose a different gaze for each day?” “For each hour,” the nurse giggled.

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