A heavy cloud of smoke hangs in the bar and the gitarrist of the band is just playing his solo, when i just emptied my glass. I nod in the direction of Pier the bartender, and he pours me some more whisky. “leave that botle” i growl at Pier, and he knows just how what time it is. It’s very late and everything happens in the dark and secrecy on places where technic doesn’t penetrate the walls. We don’t have to be afraid of noise disturbance, because the bar is situated in the dungeons of the old village center. And in this bar you see only the scum, black sheeps, musicians and artists, or a wealthy tourist who is then robbed and programmed to be a revolutionary and sent back.
The devil sold his soul to me 