Lenny raised an eyebrow. "Passing through, huh? What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?"
The smoke hung heavy over the crumbling club, a haze of last night's cigars and this morning's regrets. Lenny, the sax man with a voice like honey and regret, walked in on worn-out shoes, his eyes scanning the room for a familiar face. The bartender, a gruff old friend named Joe, nodded in his direction without looking up. lenny elleny
Lenny nodded. He knew a thing or two about hiding. He pulled out his horn and began to play, the notes weaving a spell of sadness and longing. The girl closed her eyes, and Lenny felt like he was playing just for her. Lenny raised an eyebrow
Lenny took the shot, feeling the burn all the way down. He spotted a young girl sitting in the corner, her eyes locked on his. She was a looker, with curves that could stop a clock and a smile that could start one again. Lenny ambled over, his horn case slung over his shoulder. Lenny, the sax man with a voice like
Lenny smiled back, feeling a spark of connection. "Anytime," he said.
The music had been a lament, a cry of sorrow and regret. But in that moment, Lenny felt like he might just find a way to play a different tune.
"The usual, Lenny?" he asked, pouring a shot without waiting for an answer.