Gemotions

The aroma of simmering garlic and oregano, usually a source of instant comfort, now felt like a cruel joke. He’d known this day was coming, of course. The rent hikes, the dwindling clientele… but still. He straightened his shoulders, pulling his jacket tighter. He hadn't just been a customer at Antonio's; he'd been part of the furniture, a regular.

He’d once convinced Antonio to add a pesto pasta to the menu, a dish that became a signature. He still remembered the chef's gruff gratitude, a nod of acknowledgment to his unsolicited culinary advice. Now, he walked into the nearly empty restaurant, a strange lightness in his step. He was, to put it mildly, *the* guy.

“Antonio,” he greeted, his voice resonating with an uncharacteristic strength. "Make me your best. And a bottle of your finest."