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•Kelly Rowland•
❥๑━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━๑❥
You solemnly walked down the streets of Greenwich Village in New York, your coat collar popped to attempt to conceal your face, which also helped provide some warmth against the chilling autumn wind. It was nearly midnight, and you were out enjoying some solace in a city that never sleeps.
You hadn’t wanted to be bothered by anyone, while at the same time wanting people to care. Since fame, you've grown increasingly lonely as people cared less about you as a person and more about the idea of you.
Looking up at the vast skyscrapers and massive apartment buildings that lined the streets, you wondered how many of their inhabitants felt as lonely as you often did, a thought you pondered for a while.
You took solace in knowing that many of the loneliest and most talented people have spent time and come from this city, and somehow that was a comforting thought. In the distance you heard some smooth jazz echoing in the streets, and as you walked down Seventh Avenue, the music grew louder. A few blocks down, and you found yourself standing in front of an old jazz club- its name, ‘Village Vanguard’. The name of the club was illuminated in a red neon glow that was a stark difference to the noir of the night sky.
Hesitantly, you gently pushed open the red doors and was met with an intense red lighting illuminating the club, the smell of cigar smoke lingering in the atmosphere. The club was intimate, maybe only fifty seats, and on the wall were photos of famous jazz musicians who’ve performed here, past and current. You wandered over to the bartender who was talking to an older gentleman about something pressing. You took a seat right nearby the talking strangers, slightly eavesdropping in on their conversation.
“What do you mean he’s out sick? I know that kid is lying to me.” The older gentleman stated. He was a hefty gentleman who spoke with a dangling pipe in his mouth, not caring that small particles of ash floated downwards onto the bar table. He wore a gold ring on his pinky and had a deep bellowing voice.
“Listen, all I know is he texted me and said he can’t make it, but he knows of a replacement. He called her a ‘throwback to the golden era of jazz’, with a voice as sweet and sultry as honey. He promised he wouldn’t let you down.” He poured some Vodka into a glass, added ice and slid it over to you.
“Um how did you know-”
“I have a gift, I know what everyone’s usual is without even knowing them.” The bartender interrupted, his gaze shifting back to the older man.
“He better not be lying to me, that idiot kid. God if he weren’t my grandson I would’ve fired him immediately.” He downed his drink and looked at you, who instantly tensed up.
