The bar was already alive with noise. A kitchen bell rang, glasses clinked, and the low drone of conversation rose and fell like waves crashing against the walls. Smoke curled from a few scattered ashtrays, mixing with the smell of frying oil and grilled meat. You had managed to slip in just ahead of the evening rush and found yourself the rare luxury of a table to yourself, tucked into a corner with several empty chairs around it. For a moment, it almost felt like you had the whole place to bre...