A few clap. Others drink on; not noticing my set was finished.

The rhythm guitarist chivalrously helps me down the four stairs leading off stage. I walk a few more paces through the smoke to my table meant for two. I sat alone. Fidgeting, I try to get the long slit in my skirt to the side, so I could sit more comfortably without my legs hanging around. The silk material would have none of it, however, so I push my chair towards the table more to hide myself.

Sighing, I sip my wine. If it is possible that in a mere three minutes in which I have finished my set, exited stage right, and sat alone at a table in the bar the air has filled with even more dense smoke, it happened. A less physical kind of haze had taken over the room too. There’s a sort of desperation and longing lingering around my shoulders. I’m desperate for a real singing career and longing for a real man: your cliché, rich, tan, tall and handsome type. The kind of man that doesn’t go around cheating the night before his wedding. I rub my left ring finger.

I sigh again. My lungs fill with oxygen tainted by falsity. There’s never a way around it, is there? It’s an inevitable shadow that doesn’t need anything from the sun. This time it was the kind of falsity that made a sophisticated lady wince. Drug store conveniences and sleazes at their finest. Cheap perfume.
The melancholy, melodramatic atmosphere digs into my veins as I dig around in my purse and pull out my cigarette. The lighter, however, is nowhere to be found. I curse under my breath. Throwing the cigarette on the table in frustration, I lean back and look around. Arms crossed, I spot a man sitting in a booth alone. He’s smiling at me. Blue eyes lit ten times brighter than the dim chandeliers, sandy hair carelessly falling onto his forehead. He doesn’t look like the typical bar-fly I usually see at my gigs. I realize he had been watching me get into a little huffy with my cigarette. I feel my neck, ears, and cheeks grow as scarlet as my dress.
The man stands up and walks towards me, bringing his jacket with him. He drapes it over the chair across from mine, sits down and pulls out his lighter. Click. I pick up my cigarette and accept his offer. He lights one up for himself and leans back. I notice he’s still smiling.
We talk all night.