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That bar invaded the senses with the essence of infidelity.
Echoes of past betrayals still lingered in the air, like ghosts that refused to go away.
Passions often hid a hint of evil.
It had been 20 years since I had last been there, but the place seemed frozen in time.
Only the time and my own age had changed.
I remembered that woman with whom I had spent a fiery night, so long ago.
Our bodies had met in the darkness of the car, consumed by passion and lust.
I never forgot her, her hormonal fire had been burned into my memory.
And there she was, or at least I thought I saw her in the gloom of the bar.
The old fox rose in me again, defying time.
I approached, intrigued, and a female silhouette materialised before my eyes, glowing with an erotic sensuality.
We danced, we drank, we looked at each other. Seduction flowed between us, until something made me stop.
Her perfect lips, her voice, her gaze? It all seemed too familiar.
Then, she told me the story of her mother, of an infidelity that happened in that same bar, years ago.
Maybe some wounds are too deep to heal, and maybe some passions always carry with them a hint of evil.