2013 NaPoWriMo Day 9

Blues

The bluesy sound of the saxophone,

accompanied by the mellow thomp of the cello
winds gently through the air.
A pallid cloud of grey cigarette smoke
hangs precariously in the air
as a burble of voices drifts endlessly around the club.
I perch on a barstool,
my glass of neat bourbon sitting beside me.

Silence descends,

the club holds its breath
as they wait for the singer
who steps on stage – all swagger and charm.
Plugging in his guitar,
electric distortions moaning as he tunes.
He plucks the strings – hard and free.
The band kicking in, following his beat.
He sings – voice gravel and deep –
a song of blues,
about how his woman done left him
“cos he forget how to write”.

I smile, swaying to the music.

The guitar rift sending ripples along my skin.
Damn, this song is good, I think to myself.
Finishing my drink, I stand to leave –
smiling at the singer once more over my shoulder,
I walk to the door.
I should have left him months ago.