The entertainment is just getting warmed up in the lounge tonight. Some Canadian jazz pianist with a voice like whiskey and cigarettes.
You take a seat in a wash of blue light and take a sip of cool amber.
You see his familiar face across the room. He walks over and says, “I haven’t seen you for awhile. Care to dance?”
Sure, why not.
He’s taller than you remember. You kick off your heels anyway. It’s a habit.
The singer finds her groove, you bury your nose in his shirt. His hand settles on the disputed territory between your back and the top of your pencil skirt. Here we go…
Happy New Year!
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