The place looks like crap. There were two exceptions to that:
damn good whiskey and this musician.
Approaching the instrument as most men approach a woman, he
brushes his hand over the wood, folding back the cover on the keys. He caresses
the ivory in several positions, adjusting himself, lining up perfectly. And
then…
The room freezes. Most are drunk, but no one speaks. Tonight,
he makes her moan, a rumble that settles into your gut, taking your soul into
the gutter.
I’ve never been in love with another man before, but this
one can sing my pants right off.
This is just one interpretation of the picture. There are more on the Blog. Also, if you are interested in listening to a slightly longer version of this piece, I've submitted it to the Word Count Podcast. It's a great little show and I encourage all my writer friends to join in!
