As I watched, Ivan beckoned me over, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. I took a seat next to him, and he began to speak in a low, raspy voice, his words weaving a spell that transported me to a world of revolution and war, of love and loss.
The night wore on, and the Russian Bar became a blur of laughter and tears, of stories and songs. As I stumbled out into the cool night air, the stars above seemed to twinkle in rhythm with the beat of my heart. russianbare