It was right at dusk, and the street was busy, full of people looking for something for dinner. As we walked down the vibrant, narrow street, the place felt both very nostalgic and very much alive.
We were about halfway down the market street when a brown tabby suddenly darted past us and just as quickly vanished into a narrow alley. We followed the cat into the alley as if he were guiding us.
At the dead end, there was a rather old-looking building whose walls were covered in ivy. With its bungalow-style, A-frame roof on top and uniformly dark brown exterior, it looked more like a café than a home.
We opened the door with the sign, "Torunka Café," and went inside.
