The place looks like crap. There were two exceptions to that: damn good whiskey and this musician.
Approaching the instrument as most men approach a woman, he brushes his hand over the wood, folding back the cover on the keys. He caresses the ivory in several positions, adjusting himself, lining up perfectly. And then…
The room freezes. Most are drunk, but no one speaks. Tonight, he makes her moan, a rumble that settles into your gut, taking your soul into the gutter.
I’ve never been in love with another man before, but this one can sing my pants right off.