The night was as busy as every Sunday. The establishment, which emulated a sort of old theater with velvety curtains in crimson tones and some armchairs of the same fabric, was full. Loud murmurs and laughter sounded without echo around the place. And in the background a soft jazz came out of the various speakers of the place, where the treble of the trumpet stood out among the voices of the public. This was a place of renown, famous throughout the city for having been the home of great jazz and blues artists. And now 50 years later, it was still hosting promising musicians.
But her body language was not the only striking thing. The way in which her face illustrated the lyrics of the song; raising her eyebrows occasionally and moving those exquisite red lips that, from time to time, showed her pearly teeth shining in the spotlight. I should hate you... but I guess, I love you...
For some reason and despite the fact that she was backlit, she knew exactly where that man she had seen in the back alley was. She felt him. And while she sang this verse of the song she looked at him with impudence and desire, wiggling for him, shrugging her breasts that seemed to overflow from her visible cleavage in his. After all, that was the reason why he was there, was it not?
