A Dimly Lit Room

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.



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