🌤️
The town was small and crooked, with streets that seemed to forget straight lines. I wandered through them, boots dusty, cloak damp from the morning dew, until I noticed a sign swinging lazily above a narrow alley:
"The Laughing Spoon."
Underneath, smaller letters promised: "We serve what you didn't know you needed."
The door creaked as I pushed it open, and immediately the smell hit me: bread toasted too long, herbs I couldn't name, and something faintly sweet that made me think of childhood mornings I couldn't remember.
Inside, chaos ruled with a gentle hand. A three-armed man balanced mugs and soup bowls as if juggling life itself. A bard strummed his lute upside-down, humming a melody that made no sense yet somehow fit perfectly. And perched on a chair, a tiny dragon inspected a pot of stew with the seriousness of a critic who had lived too long.
The barkeep spotted me and waved, his hat shaped suspiciously like a loaf of bread. He moved with surprising grace for someone his size.
"Welcome!" he said. "First time here?"
I nodded. "Yeah. Just passing through."
"Perfect." He slid a scroll across the counter. I unrolled it, squinting. The menu was… unusual.
•One cup of courage — served warm, with advice.
•Bread that tastes like home — may induce nostalgia.
•Tea that whispers secrets — drink at your own risk.
•Soup for the lost — extra salt for sadness.
I stared. "Do people… order these?"
"Only those who need it most," he said with a grin, and in the same moment, a child at the far table asked for a cloud that tastes like candy. A floating puff of sugar materialized above her plate, slowly dissolving with every cautious bite.
I chose the bread.
When it arrived, the aroma alone made me pause. I bit into it, and my senses betrayed me: warm mornings, soft sunlight, the faint smell of wool coats left on chairs. Memories I hadn't lived, or maybe forgotten, pressed gently against the edges of my mind.
The little dragon sneezed politely, flames licking the air harmlessly, and I laughed softly.
The tavern continued in its usual way around me. A warrior sipped a cup of courage and fell asleep mid-drink. The bard continued humming upside-down tunes. Orders came and went, absurd and perfect, each more impossible than the last.
Eventually, the barkeep leaned over. "You walk a lot," he said. "Want to help for a bit?"
I shrugged. How hard could it be?
Harder than I imagined. Soup spilled into tea, bread got scorched by tiny dragon flames, and advice got mixed with secrets in ways that made the walls hum. I left the day covered in flour, tea stains, and the faint smell of smoke, laughing at my own misfortune.
When the tavern quieted, I took the loaf of bread with me, tucking it carefully under my arm. Outside, the streets stretched wide and silent. The sky was calm, the sun warm.
For the first time in days, the road didn't feel lonely.
I bit into the bread. It tasted like a home I had never known but had always missed. And maybe that was enough.
I walked on, smiling quietly, leaving behind the chaos, the laughter, and the little dragon who seemed entirely unimpressed with life.