J. A. Stapleton

When the café on the corner first opened its doors in the August of 1923, Pierre Goddard and his father thought their clientele would consist mostly of businessmen. Twenty-one years later, his father long gone from polio, with shoulder-length grey hair in a bun, the physical manifestation of a man in a mid-life crisis, and a World War in full swing, it had become frequented by Nazis.