About the book: 1966 / The only difference between the Mac's saloon and other similar establishments is that it has one attraction: next to the bar on a special raised platform, made in in the form of a tray, supported by three columns of the Corinthian style, rests a hefty shapeless piece of concrete, ordinary gray concrete with torn edges and pieces of reinforcement protruding from them, in a word, the kind you would find in any construction dump. A casual visitor will glance indifferently at this strange structure and shrug his shoulders. A regular will probably explain to you that this is not just a piece of concrete, but a part (albeit a very insignificant one) of the once famous Berlin Wall, and you, satisfied with the answer, will drink something like a dry martini and go out, immediately forgetting what was said .And only one person out of a thousand will probably try to connect these disparate details: the burnt and drink-stained carpet, the lazy and peaceful movements of the saloon owner, which in no way fits with his fleeting, but quite attentive glance, which he gives to the next person entering, right there , however, turning to the blonde sitting next to him at the table, a piece of concrete on a raised platform near the bar - and it becomes clear that the saloon owner can tell a lot of interesting things about the combination of these disparate details. Especially for those who grew up in a world where, thank God, there is no longer either the Berlin Wall, or East Germany, or its Stasi and police...