A night in Amsterdam, a pub in Leidseplein.

So many people inside, isazi knows some of them, but they aren’t close right now. Our guy is definitely blazed, looking for something more to drink, walking to approach the bar.
He manages to get a spot in the front row, and a stool. He doesn’t use the stool, but he appreciates the fact that it is there beside him. At some point he hears someone speaking Italian.
He spends few minutes talking with these two guys, one Italian and one Argentinian. Time is not an issue tonight. She has all the time that she wants to reach the bar and take the spot beside him. She is at his right.
For one reason that we don’t know, or maybe for many reasons that we still don’t know, the guy ends his conversation with the two adventurers and gets back to his mission: getting something to drink. She sits on the stool at his left.
They both look at the bar, waiting for a bartender to give them something to drink. They both look at the busy bartender, that never looks back at them. Their legs touch, his left, her right. They look at each other and, unfortunately, they start talking.
I told you already that time is not that important tonight. They just talk, the bartender does his job and they don’t look at him, they just talk about their own lives. They are two polite kids, they even look at each other while they talk. I swear, the guy told me the day after that she enjoyed their conversation and even said that he was a cool kid. I cannot confirm, probably he was just wasted.
She is cute, blond, and comes from the unapproachable North. He is, well, simply him, and comes from the far South. She is just visiting, he is staying.
She decides it is time to order her drinks. A beer for her, something else for her friends. The poor guy suddenly realizes that this should be the end of their story, he’s sure that she’s going back to her friends with the drinks. Every season has an end, as the Greenhornes used to sing when we were both young.
Unfortunately, she decides to stay and keeps talking with him. The conversation is their secret, these two poor drunken souls, but I managed to extort from him the permission to publish just an excerpt of this conversation.
Everyone stops talking, the place is silent like, well, the typical pub in Leidseplein, Amsterdam. No sounds, no movements. Everyone looks at them. She looks him in the eyes and tells him “I don’t love my boyfriend, I just don’t feel anything for him anymore“. He looks her in the eyes. For a while he just looks her in the eyes. He looks her in the eyes and tells her “I’m sorry“.
She stands up, hugs him kindly and says that is time for her to go.