So, I don’t really gave me the sudden inspiration to write this a few days ago, but I remembered wanting to write something about jazz and this was born. I hope you enjoy!


              A flashy dress that shines and shimmers under the stage lights, the woman seeming to glow as all the eyes in the dinner locked on her. A microphone in hand, hair in soft waves, her brown skin sparkling along with her white teeth, she opened her mouth wider and a melody poured out. The audience was entranced, dazzled, stunned by her talent, clapping in time to the piano notes, her feet seeming to glide around the stage as she danced. Three men and a solitary woman sat in the upper booth, a private gallery made to watch her from the highest view, wasted as they all spoke in hushed tones. No one looked up to see money passing hands, the thin smiles as a briefcase was slid over to the buyer’s chairs, the other patrons were too captivated by the woman on stage, her dress flaring out as she twirled, the pianist hitting the keys harder, sweat on her brow, her partner dipping as she hit a climax in the song. The crowd went wild pouring out of their seats, dancing along, moved to joining in, hands from the upper booth came together to shake on their deeds, the patrons unaware, the pianist standing as well, furiously hitting the keys. As she finishes and throws a single rose into the audience who clamored over it, she spread her arms out, the crowd moving with her, the now upper area vacated, the pianist playing her final notes. And then she and the pianist left, to be filled in by other performers who wouldn’t be able to move the crowd like their predecessors, the men in suits leaving with a different suitcase then what they had arrived with, the crowd finally quieting down as the lights dimmed. The woman and the pianist all climb into the car, a third woman joining in soon after, with the suitcase, the door closed behind them by a tired but grateful chauffeur. Who said crime never paid?



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