Open Mic Night

Margot sipped idly on her scotch, heaving an overly dramatic sigh with such practiced effort that she almost stopped to congratulate herself on the intensity. She took her seat at the back, waved the drifting smoke from her face and focused the last of her attention on the stage.

Open mic night was always the worst, she thought. Only a bunch of degenerate losers who thought they had talent completely embarrassing themselves in public. Well, a drunkened audience who couldn’t possibly distinguish talent sober or not…Margot dared herself not to heave another one of her famous Scarlett O’Hara sighs.

A man in a skin tight sequin leotard, finished a very rigorous interpretive dance and bowed. Margot gave out a “Hmphh,” accompanied by a sneer obvious enough for other patrons to acknowledge. Judging by the stares she recieved, she knew she was becoming, very drunk.

Then the spotlight hit him…he was nervous, the typical case. But then he began to speak, and Margot couldn’t conjure a sigh.

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