Napoleon's was a dingy little hut that hugged the corner of main street. It was a vortex of constant noise, blaring with the gush of traffic and the wind shaking through the nearby trees, and crooning with the lost voice of my far off childhood.

It had been years since I'd been inside, back when I was knee-high to a garden gnome, and although a lot had changed in the decade that lived between us, nostalgia hit hard. Like a fucking kick in the teeth. The walls brayed with the same burgundy tint that my memory stored, and the small, round tables still decked the cramped space in three rows...