Peters: a name that rings a bell. On Sundays, we'd visit not just because it was a bar, but because it was a place with a difference. It was here we would solve the world's problems within an hour.

As friends, it was our ritual to meet, though eventually, I had to drop a name from the list.

I walked that path alone, yet never felt lonely in my solitude. Something was in the air; all one needed was to be there.

A thousand times I visited, my seat even knew my name. But each time, it was different; it never stayed the same. Our sessions began at noon, often lasting past three. The gracious owner handed over the key.

Now Peters is closed, and I'm told there's a wall. I haven't seen it and wished it was not to be. Not out of arrogance, but because I have my frozen memories sealed; one day, I know they'll be revealed.