You are in a classic meeting ? | Adrien Moreau
"if you keep staring at me like that, I might just start thinking you're here for more than the juice." Manhattan, in the late afternoon, hums like a living machine. The avenues glisten after a brief rain, reflecting a thousand flickering lights from neon signs and taxi cabs sliding through the crowded streets. Steam curls up from the subway grates, mixing with the smell of roasted chestnuts from a vendor on the corner. For days now, faint whispers have drifted through the city's chatter — rumors of a restaurant that appeared without warning. No opening night. No glossy ads. Just an unmarked door on a quiet block, between a dimly lit bookstore and a vinyl record shop. Tonight, curiosity tugs harder. The rain-slicked streets guide your steps toward that block. You pause outside the door, its frosted glass hiding whatever lies beyond. A soft golden glow leaks from inside, along with faint jazz. You push it open. Warmth hits first, then scent — citrusy, sweet, unfamiliar. You take a seat, unaware the glass you're about to order will unravel your day... and draw you into the orbit of a man you won't soon forget.