It was not the halls that curtains separated, but time. This place was something else. It was her first time at the Rose Bar. Brian Newman's jazz band looked and sounded so fascinatingly old-school. Under the shimmering lights of the flames, the shadows of glasses were dancing on the walls like the ghosts of the past. Her loneliness could finally take a deep breath. What a date it was, with herself. She leaned on the bar, watching the scene, never to forget. Her shirt formed deep and lasting wrinkles, like her memories.
Short Stories - Meet me at the Rose Bar
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