Another album, another memory. This one is about the time I heard the first strike. It was unexpected; we never had a good relationship with Signoa in the first place, but no one ever thought of a war. I was working in the Ministry of the Interior at that time, and we had a lot of work to handle in just one day. We had to silence the dissenting voices, control the narrative, find the possible threats… I was just thinking about her at that time, and while thinking, I was listening to this very album.

”I liked it, you can actually feel his pain.” Of course, Lars. You can feel it because you had your share of pain too.

”Right. It was his last album, right after that his cancer got worse, and just four months later, he died.’

”Yeah, I heard about it when I was a student. Never listened to his music before, though.”

Understandable. His music, forgotten in time, was too ‘sad’ for the new generation.

We still had ten hours of road to Eternostad, and I needed sleep. The company controls our timing, and if I drive over the schedule, it will be noticed by a guy on a computer. We don’t want to get called by a control-freak white-collar.

”Say, Lark, I need to rest for nine hours, and I know a place down the road with nice beer. Do you want to drown our melancholy with some alcohol?” An unrejectable offer.

”I think that would be nice. Yeah, let’s get our sorrows drowned.” Another bingo.

As I parked my truck, the bar’s lights welcomed us. After a nice drink, I can sleep in peace, but before that, I will learn the full story of Lars.

”Do you see that dynamite-shaped light?”

”Let me guess the bar’s name… Dynamite?” It was Lavender back in the day, but the name changed after a new owner took the place.

”Correct. They still brew the best beer in this city. The old owner was a friend of mine, he shared his recipe with the new owner.”

”We will see!’ Yeah, you will see—the best amber ale ever made by a human.

I went through the door and saw my favorite seat empty. The one near the old music box. It’s a miracle that thing still works. I carried that thing with Barla when he decided to get a music box. He let me choose the albums for it. Ah, another memory attack!

”Let’s sit there, not far from the loo and close to the music,” I said while trying to spot the owner. He’s not here, but a young bartender is carrying the job by himself.

”Why not? Who’s getting the first round?” You are my guest, of course, I will.

”The first round’s on me, and the fries too.” Let’s dig into the past with the help of some amber-colored beauty, shall we?