There is no street. Outside is the end of an alley with a few garbage cans that are overflowing. It is the kind of bar that only the regular clientele go to. There are a few doors leading to dirty, dark apartments, the kind that only the very poor but very proud would rent.
Inside the bar, the only music comes from a man playing the violin in a corner. He is a younger man, perhaps the nephew of the owner. He is staying with his aunt and uncle during the summer. To earn his keep, he helps out at the bar. Tonight he plays the violin because he tripped outside the bar and hurt his leg.
The young man’s uncle is behind the bar. He is continually serving shots to a grubby looking middle-aged man with a few days worth of hair on his face. He is crying into his drink because he found his wife in bed with his brother. The bartender nods sagely every once in a while. He motions to his nephew to change the tune.
The young woman that works as a waitress is serving drinks to a couple of men in the corner. They ignore her when she sets the drinks down. She ignores them as well and turns to the violinist. She smiles at him and he drops his bow. The young woman turns and deposits her tray behind the bar. Sneaking a glance behind her, she sees the young man blushing and smiling as he bends down to pick up the bow.