Dawn At The Orchid Room.

“Fuck me,” said F., locking the door behind the last of the stragglers exiting into the bleary, grey dawn.

“Fuck me,” he said plopping himself down on the stool by the piano. “I don’t know if Ladies Night is such a good idea. They bang back them halfpriced drinks and start acting like sailors. What are you like with a mop and bucket? I need someone to clean the blood off the walls in the Madamoiselles. Oh well, at least they all walked out, there’s no room left under the floorboards for any more bodies. I was thinking next week we might have some amateur Jello wrestling instead. Win a free night with the old man and his magic hat. Ha!” He banged back the last of the whisky. “Play something appropriate. I gotta go have a word with Mamu. Noone gets in the backroom, especially not me, and especially especially not me on Ladies Night.., hahahah…”

I looked down at the piano and all I could think to play was “Let’s do it again, one more time, just for me, let’s do it again, two more times, babee, g’night and god bless,


3 Responses

  1. laughing very loudly, but blushing too

  2. Poor Paul. I picture us all running in crazed concentric circles with you trying to orchestrate and keep us under control. Nice ending to another hormonal night at the Orchid Room. – Mimi.

  3. From afar, the smoke tendrils feel light and tasty. Up close, I see carnage not unlike Ypres. Dawn reveals herself, bare and trembling; I offer her my cloak and walk to destiny.



    P.S. You will all find me, those that do not know, to be one who is different. 😉

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