A Bar Story Without a Name

In the evening the second chime of the bell of St. Diana fell. She was still nestled on the simple sofa in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out at the bustling and noisy city, thinking about the past in a nonchalant way. The yellowed record hummed old songs on the gramophone, and these old songs accompanied her year after year. The lazy Chow Chow on the carpet looked up at the nearly bottomed glass of red wine on the coffee table. There was a faint lip print and a familiar fragrance left on the rim of the wine glass. Wine was her favorite home-brew, and she was reluctant to drink it usually, only when she was happy or sad. It seemed that she was in a good mood today. In more than an hour, this deserted corner bar will be full of people again. I almost forgot how many years this bar has been open, I just remember it is called "Story without a Name"...