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December 22, 2015

(Picture: Shutterstock) 

 

The voice coming from over by the piano was sultry, throaty, and reeked of cigarettes, whisky and dirty sex. I looked up from my glass of single malt and swivelled around on the bar stool to see if the reality matched the image now placed firmly in my brain. I expected to see a train wreck of a woman, whose dissolute appearance matched her voice, but the woman before me was no more than mid-twenties, with long, sleek, dark brown hair, and the face of an angel. I did a double take, unable to believe that the voice and the image I saw before me belonged to each other. Perhaps she was miming? If she was, she was damne...

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