The Poseidon Express emerges from the body of water and runs its wheels across the tracks with a loud squeak. High heels and million-dollar loafers brush against the thick, red carpet covering the floors. Some are finished with their tea and champagne; others are too self-absorbed to pick up after themselves.

The train conductor excuses the two overly-dressed women and announces they have finally reached New Orleans, Louisiana. Many rejoice, while a few, like Ichabod, struggle to get off their comfortable seats.

Laughing, I fetch my backpack and beaded handbag and kiss Ichabod on his head.

"Hey, Crane," I croon. "Are you feeling tired?"

He places his paw on my cheek and lets out a tired meow.

"Okay," I whisper.

I open my front backpack pouch, let Ichabod inside, grab the rest of my stuff, and leave before Oliver talks to me.

Squeezing between the crowd of rich people, I enter the damp tunnels crafted from shale. Green water glosses across the smooth, gray surface, reeking of rotten eggs.

Cigarette smoke, French accents, and Southern songs linger in the muggy air as rich, old, young, black, and white people make a sluggish beeline toward the satin-white seats.

Tugging the sleeve of his flannel, Hugo forces his tired  feet to drag on the smooth surface, avoiding the civilians maneuvering around him. After that, he follows me to a flight of stairs leading us out of the humid train station.

I grasp the wood stair rail pierced into the rocky wall and then force myself to ascend along the concrete stairs. Hugo follows me until we stumble upon a wooden door cemented to the wall.

Surprised, I approach it and press my ear against the rough surface. One minute, I'm hearing shattering dishes and broken English, and the next, I'm listening to sixties music playing in the background.

"Hey, Teddy," Hugo whispers. "What are you listening to?"

I lift my head from the frigid surface and ask, "Why are you still following me?"

"Because I'm lost," he answers.

"Then ask someone who can help you."

"But I don't know anyone in these shitty tunnels."

I exhale and let out a sigh. "Fine, I'll lead you out of the tunnel, but don't ask me again for any favors."

Hugo nods. He gives me a Scout's Honor sign, then watches as I open the door and find myself standing in an unfamiliar restaurant.

The customers walk in and out of the restaurant like clockwork. All the booths are drenched in this glossy brown color. Ceiling fans spin fast enough to fend off the flies buzzing inside the diner.

As Hugo runs his finger along the oak-brown table, his ears heighten as the jukebox plays "Shout Sister Shout" by Sister Rosetta Tharpe.

Sugary pecan pralines and beignets waft from the kitchen window to our noses. More train passengers come through the back door, both surprised and relieved. The servers welcome us with open arms before handing us a menu and a free beignet.

Hugo scans his eyes at the lively diner until a black waitress in a pale pink uniform and white slippers walks over to us.

Golden hoops dance inside her brown earlobes. Her eyelids are smudged with blue eyeshadow. A black, stretchy choker hugs my neck while a silver locket glides across her breasts. She's cute, but her bright pink lip gloss does not compliment her look.

"Y'all seem distracted." she comments. "Did y'all just come from the station or what?"

"I guess so," Hugo replies with a laugh.

"Anyways, welcome to Doc Win's Cajun Shack. If you guys have already decided what you would like to eat, please sit on the bar stools."

Hugo and I trade a look at...