As I left the accounting firm, I stepped out into the crisp air. The French Quarter was slowly waking up, the smell of chicory coffee and freshly baked beignets filling the air. The streets were still damp from the night's rain, and the cobblestones glistened under the soft glow of the street lamps.
I walked towards the café, my stomach rumbling in anticipation of a café au lait and a sense of normalcy.
As I was approaching the bookstore, I couldn't help but glance at the window, seeing a small, hand-lettered sign that read, 'Room for rent, inquire inside'.
It was almost as if the universe was throwing me a bone, a hint that maybe, just maybe, I could find a piece of home in this city.
With my curiosity piqued, I pushed open the door, the bell chiming a sweet greeting. At the sound,
