Cigars and booze in a London pub with an old-fashioned jukebox.

There was a lot of voices, and songs of exhortation and embarrassment were broadcast. The crowd rubbed their warmed hands under the gloves, and gathered around the mahogany bar to chat about their daily routines.

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Whiskey season, warm up with an ice glass. Someone was talking about a certain Jennifer from twenty years ago, a date in the same tavern here, and someone was seated in a corner, swaying a glass of dry gin like a Douga painting.

But these are all submerged in the joy and joy of the human voice, is it still important?
Good wine, today is Christmas Eve. let's toast and get drunk.

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Cigar and liquor, old fashioned tavern with a 
jingling jukebox.

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Loud crowd gathering around the wooden bar for the 
chitter and chats, who's here tonight, you've got a 
pence? It's whiskey season, pick a boogie.

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Somebody talks about a Jennifer he brought here 20 
years ago, somebody drinks dry gin alone half-wasted like a Degas painting at the corner. But 
all that drowns in the joyful noise and does not 
matter no more.

 

It's Christmas Eve. Let's toast to that.