Watching Those Fingers

She's sitting upright, the rest of us slouch. She's making music man, while the rest of us drink. She's got her eyes closed as we all imagine.

And when they ask why, I told them it takes me round corners. Few understood, most just shrugged and rolled their eyes. But then thats the whole point, i don't need understanding i just need a giggle. I glance over to her, she's lost in another world, I finish my drink and order another.

There's something special in her song, something sad, something heavy. She launches into something new, something with lyrics, something crunchy. A song from Australia, a song to get the crowd singing. It's after hours, staff only, I light up a smoke. She's just like the others, a few weeks, maybe a month tops and she'll be heading down the ever present highway, that ugly black ribbon bordering my existence.

I tried leaving once, though i seldom go into details. Plenty of drinking, a burning car and an ugly trip to hospital. But as she sings it, the curse stops here I suppose. Out by the trees, making coffees and cooking burgers. I make muffins, sell them for a profit though I'm told I'm wasting creative talent.

Soon the songs blend into one, the night grinds on and I'm left there, drunk, perched on a stool by the piano, just watching those fingers dance.