Thursday, November 14, 2013


      It was late at night.  I was tired.  
I had been on a six day search for my rich client. 
 She wanted me to find her missing husband.  
I had little to go on. 
 I pulled my red Schwinn bike into the dirty parking lot of the local hangout.
  I just wanted to sit and numb my thoughts.  
It was smoky and dark.  It smelled like a zoo...but I didn't care.  
 A cranky server asked me what I wanted to drink.  
"Water-on-the-Rocks," I answered. 
 The cranky server asked for ID. 
 It was noisy...but I didn't care.  
My blurry-eyes focused on the stage.  I was on my third 
Musicians headed for the stage.  
The clamber of feet on the stage was loud. 
The cymbal player warmed up.
It was jazz night.  
 The  sultry-singer sang about broken romance. Her voice cried heartbreak. 
I hated to leave.  The jazz was good.
I stepped out into the morning's blinding sun.
I hopped back onto my faithful red Schwinn.  
The ice-cold seat jolted my brain...but I didn't care.
I had a job to do.  
My client was waiting for some answers.
And I still had none.

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