It had been a year since Stoyan last went to the village bar.
And so he walked there. He had a beer and greeted the ladies.
They greeted him. And so did some men.
And he sat alone. On a squeaking bar stool.
It seemed most people knew him. They were unsure where from.
He had some more beer and stared straight ahead.
The beer was finished, he left a banknote under the empty glass.
Stoyan was feeling quite lonely. But he was in a full bar.
Whatever caused the feeling, he wasn’t quite sure.
Stoyan put on his hat and walked out the door.
He left the others in wonder where they had seen him before.
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