The cold bit us hard, the streets were grey, moist, the night was old, and my friend kept talking about how we didn't need to be talking all the time.
There was a drunken guy standing by the door when we got to the bar, and he wouldn't be allowed in. Although sober, our luck wasn't any better, so we started wandering again.
Our feet led us to a bar that seemed to have appeared out of the very dephts of nothingness, and this time we could go in. Speaking of magical places as we had been for a while, my friend and I couldn't believe our eyes when we met that world. Magical had never seemed so real!
People playing chess, a shelf crowded with dusty books, and a scent of tango all around. We walked through the bar in a journey of secret rooms and corners, of velvet smoke and gloomy curtains, a bohemian labyrinth, dark and musical, the most beautiful there ever was.
-You have got to be kidding me. What brings you here? - said he. Before, magical seemed to never have seemed so real. Up until now, chance had never seemed so awful and so true. It was he; my former lover, of course.
My friend argued with the bartender over the fact that it was too late to purchase alcohol - people were starting to leave - as I tried to carry on a conversation that would make me look good in front of that legendary bastard (a foe, let me say, always unworthy of the try).
My friend struggled to get a long-expected bottle of wine from the stubborn bartender, my eyes were getting weary. Chance had spoiled magic for me a little by that time, and it was getting late. My friend paid a small fortune and got what he wanted, and then we left. Yes, chance spoiled magic a little for me that night.
