Cantina Band

I slid in the door, unnoticed. The normal controlled chaos reigned supreme throughout the cantina. Conversations intertwined with plans, life stories crossed with laughter & growls. Politics & nonsense. Friends and enemies.
I’d had a rough day. I walked two miles in a downpour, got lost in a textbook’s dense passages, & recounted a literary scene way too many times for comfort. I was mounded with work.
Oh, if only there was just one more hour in the day!
I slipped out of my long tan coat, setting my case down by my ankles, & rubbed my hands over my tired face.
“Oy! Cecilia!”
I looked up to see the rest of the band saunter through the door. I smiled and raised my hand in greeting.
“Early like always?” the drummer asked, his accent thick.
“Yessir,” I replied, pulling out my clarinet.
“Well, we’re ready to go!” the bassoonist said, raising his instrument. The bass nodded.
“Alright boys, the standard?” I snapped my fingers in rhythm, smile on my face & in my heart. “One and two and three and four and…”

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