Allison refused to budge. By all rights, she was entitled to stay in this booth as long as she liked. She’d bought a latte after all, never mind that had been well over three hours ago.

Oh, how she hated them.

There hangs the sword, the one handed down from father, to son, to me, the symbol of my family, the defender of our home, the weapon that has slain hundreds, that fought for our homeland in the long war, and struck fear into our enemies, the blade that was retired but never allowed to dull, that was laid to rest but never sheathed, that was put on display as a reminder to all future interlopers this house will forever be vigilant, there is the sword even now, still hanging there, as I slowly bleed out on the floor below it.