There is a bar right on the outskirts of the city. It stands between two dilapidated buildings, a small beacon of purple and red neon lights amidst a gray backdrop. No matter the day, it’s filled with regulars. The drinks are mixed to each client’s taste, not a drop out of place. The music is good, a mix of indie jazz, soul blues, and the occasional live performances by a handful of the bar staff. The atmosphere, too, is something to look forward to—it’s chill, friendly, and no matter which walk of life you come from, there is always a chair waiting for you at the bar.
But if you go to the outskirts of the city and find two dilapidated buildings, you will see no bar. No small beacon of purple and red neon lights amidst a gray backdrop. No faint echoes of indie jazz, or soul blues, or the occasional live performances by talented singers.
No, you won’t see any bar, but make no mistake; it is a real thing.
It sits there, between two dilapidated buildings, waiting for the right people to come through its swinging door with the stained glass window. It waits for the right clients—for the people with magic in their blood, and power in their name.
Déjà Brew exists, and its door is now open to the public.