Copyright -John Nixon
Cal’s been through his repertoire twice, though the regulars don’t notice the repetition.
This time of night, when the floor’s awash with beer and the pavement outside has had its first bloody baptism, he turns to the old tunes, ones that make the most busted booze hound weep.
He plays one of his Gran’s favourites – fair maids, broken hearts – and a ragged choir joins in the chorus.
Another shot of whisky joins the line-up on the piano. After closing, he’ll pour them all into a pint glass and take it home.
The wages of sin.
Written for Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ Friday Fictioneers. See the pic, write a story in 100 words or fewer.
The piano in the picture reminded me of an old Billy Joel song. Sing us a song, you’re the piano man …