baron potato blues

it begins with the tinkling keys of a piano softly playing in a smoke filled room

her heels clicking across the hardwood floors, the swish of her dress in time with the sway of her hips


he eyes the glass in front of him, runs his finger around the rim of it absently

a sharp edge catches the skin, he pulls back the finger in surprise, drips of red suspended for a moment in the amber


the piano player warms up, fingers flying across the eighty eight keys, a staccato snare dances at the edge

her feet are killing her, the tray in her hand seems like it weighs two hundred pounds as impossibly thin stemmed glasses of clear liquor move in time with her hips


he swirls the glass, the blood long dilluted into the whiskey, he smiles as he realizes it isn’t the first glass to carry the coppery scent

he watches her, enthralled at the effortless grace of her gliding from table to table, the smile on her face brighter than the spotlight


lazily, almost as an afterthought, the brass brazenly screeches, no rhyme or reason, just an occasional note in the rare moments between drum and keys

droplets of sweat on the side of the short glasses, maraschino cherries bob on the golden sea in each


the trumpet let’s out a trill shriek, she stumbles over a chair leg, the tray of martinis falls, glasses tumbling in time to the music

he watches in slow motion as it falls on towards him, he moves between the notes, his chair slides back, his arm around her waist


glass shatters as he realizes he is holding her, she realizes she is being held, no time for embarrassment on either face as they stare into one another’s eyes

the band plays on oblivious to the crowd watching the two of them locked together, just the occasional drum roll filling the air

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