I was in my regular booth, cigarette lit in one hand and a scotch on the rocks in the other. It’s a dimly lit cafe, with only the little stage being noticeable. And on that little stage was a gorgeous woman singing a nice little tin-tone. Her voice was something else. Misplaced in this pit hole full of insomniacs, criminals, and a washed-up detective. A Godsend with long black hair, red dress, and red lipstick. Nothing had been going my way on the case I’ve been working on, but this moment here: It was a little bliss, the likes of which us bottom feeders don’t deserve. Her song ended to no applause. Maybe it’s me, maybe it’s the scotch, or maybe the case but I didn’t care what the reason was: I didn’t want her to stop singing. I looked down, disappointed, thinking she was gone off stage and out of this world, into the world above… Then I heard that voice, I looked up and saw that she had started singing again. At that moment I realized a crucial piece to my case. I was jolting to the door grabbing my coat, looked back at the woman singing that nice little tone and I gave her a round of applause. Cue exit.