Three brothers sit at a table in an otherwise empty bar, playing Skat.
There are bottles of alcohol, unopened, covered in dust and cobwebs sitting atop the counter.
The cards they play with are ancient and faded from neglect.
And still, they proceed in their merriment, awaiting company.
"He's late," says the first, a young man with a sleek mustache wearing a fine-tailored suit.
"He arrives precisely when he means to," the second speaks up, a balding man with spots on his head, dressed casually. "Not later, not sooner. You are too impetuous."
The third, a rail-thin old man, nearly desiccate in appearance and wearing rags, merely nods.
The three continue their game.
"I don't think we have much more time," the mustached brother speaks up again, putting his cards face-down on the table.
"We have as much time as we need." the bald brother reassures him, glancing over his hand.
The eldest brother plays a card, the Queen of Hearts, and says nothing.
The three continue their game.
Eventually, someone enters the bar.
He is tall, wears a blazer, and carries with him a cigarette and lighter.
"It's about time," the youngest chides him.
"Hush. Welcome, now we can finally play Durak," says the middle one.
The oldest smiles and gathers up the cards, shuffling them with the skill and grace only experience may grant one.
"Sorry I took so long. There was something I needed to take care of before coming here," the newcomer smiles, taking a seat at the table and lighting his cigarette ablaze.
"No worries, brother. We know how it is with you. Always the kind one."
The bar, the bottles, the cobwebs, and its four patrons, would stand for only one round of Durak before vanishing into the ether.
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