Legs McNeil loomed over their table, a figure of chaotic energy, his presence an assault on the senses. His hand descended on Noah’s shoulder like a vulture’s talon.

“And who’s this? Your girlfriend? Or perhaps your latest victim?”

Noah laughed nervously, “Woe, friend, I’m just here for the pasta.”

In 1992, as the Bosnian Civil War erupted, I found myself traveling through Eastern Europe, only to become trapped in the besieged city of Sarajevo.