#Chapter22
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 of three. New pictures had been added to the wall, begging at a modern feel, but the black and white ones that had once fascinated were still floating about among the mix.
/"My dad used to bring me here,/" I muttered. /"Used to take me to work with him on Saturday mornings and we'd grab sandwiches from here on the way./"
