An ex-lovers lover... A dress.
Miles liked Friday nights, especially hot Friday nights. The bar was always full to bursting with thirsty punters, their money flowing like Niagara over the antique wooden bar.
He usually just sat back and watched it all happen from his private table at the back, and tonight he was enjoying a bottle of his private stash of single malt and some fine Mississippi blues.
There were a lot of wandering musicians these days, playing for food and a dry bed and this guy was very good, in fact he was thinking about getting his own guitar out and joining in.
Tonight was going particularly well, with the usual crowd of regulars, Chicago natives mostly, hanging on in there, making the best of things.
They seemed to like the pre-war retro, low-tech feel.
There was a bubbling, rowdy hen’s night party over in one corner, a few lonely travelling salesmen looking for love, some working girls and guys, ditto,
and a quartet of rich gambling types on tour to experience the low life in Chicago and the other drowning cities in the good old US of A.
Their guide and guards were some of his regulars of course. One of those win win situations.
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