The empty husk of a building that used to be Caffe Verona frightens me. I walk by and expect bats to fly out of the doorway, or the sound of rattling chains to be heard echoing from the frigid oven. I miss their quiche, their warmth, their music. And now all that remains of a once boisterous enery is faded signs and wind-blown trash.
What I wouldn't give for a new deal. For a landlord that could negotiate and a company that could succeed. For a way to turn that place back into something worthwhile.
Either that, or coax tourists by claiming it a legitimate haunting.
Personally, I'd rather be able to shop or eat there. I've never really been one for ghosts.