The small jazz club off 3rd and Lafayette was Duane’s second home. The unmistakable sound of the big man slapping his beloved doghouse bass filled the air. The chatter amongst the packed crowd was unanimous:
‘Sends tingles down the spine every time’
I needed a smoke. A woman by the door caught my eye.
“There’s nobody better” she said.
I didn’t know her. I didn’t know any of these people, and I doubt Duane did either. Just maybes if they’d shown him this love before now he wouldn’t have gone and done what he done. Maybe then tonight could have been a gig, and not a wake.
These words form my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.