The singer had a voice like a tin rake. Its tines bent from hitting rock and roots. But there was warmth in it. Like an old wood-stove. And the company was good. Good enough for a rainy October night, anyway. Another round wouldn’t hurt.
The first act finished and the bar went dark. Under the table, he reached for his date’s knee. She pulled it away, but gave him a little smile. The stage lights came up and some fat guy in a suit came out, apologizing, the show had to cancel. The band never made it, got lost somewhere.