So there it was, my heart beating in my drink, saying to me: -- I don't know, old fella, what you are up to, but I am going to stay here.

What could I be up to without my heart? I really don't know what my heart meant by saying this, but everybody else in the bar was up on their hind legs, those filithy drunks, yelling for help. Finally an ambulance arrived, somebody who could be a doctor found an empty bloody vein on my arm and gave me an injection.

I passed out.

I never found out what had happened to my heart. The bar closed soon after that incident. Some decent folks live in the place now.

Now and then I knock at the door. Without opening the door they ask who is there. I say:

-- Is the bar here?

-- No -- they say -- not anymore.

Then I say:

-- Then where the hell is my heart?

[sb]