Every person has their own definition of home. One of the most interesting definitions I have heard so far was: “Home is where my toothbrush is”. While I most definitely agree that the location of the toothbrush is a very important issue in one’s life (just think of all the toothbrush-drawer dilemmas most serious relationships go through), I came to the conclusion that my home is where my bar is. Yep, that’s right. A bar. Well, not just any bar but My Bar:

  • That place where the music somehow always suits your mood.
  • That place where your evenings always somehow end up even though just an hour ago you decided that this time you are going to go try out that new place everyone’s talking about. For sure.
  • That place where they don’t ask you how you take your coffee, they just know: it’s black, with milk and one sugar. Or black with four sugars if you’re crazy like my best friend. And of course, at least 2 hours long. We are in Croatia after all.
  • That place where you cry like a baby when they have to close it down, then proceed to be miserable for six months until they reopen in another location. Because it’s really not about the place but about the people.

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