Slurred laughter, scraping chairs, clapping. The bar is noisy with the sounds of a cheap crowd ready to see cheaper magic. They’re so loud I can’t even tell what the show is tonight, but I can guess. Maybe it'll be Louise belting flat-pitches into half-wilted flowers again. No, her magic smells like those perfumes made for tweens, and all I can smell is sweat and booze.
God, I hope it’s not Charles. If I have to hear his pot-smook croon summon his ex-girlfriend again with “the soul in her eyes flew away/once she saw that I didn’t like The Smiths and had a -redacted- ” gasps for air “t-that day.” . . .
The crowd’s too excited for it to be him. Even the patrons of the Dirty Treble who believe all magic is Magic, have had enough of Charles’s self-pity séances. Well, it
I hope I did this right, it looks a little long for thirteen lines, but maybe this just means my paragraphs are too big. This is a short story I wrote for a creative writing class I'm taking. The professor loved it, so of course I think it needs major work.
It runs pretty short just a tinsy bit over 2.6k, so if annyone would like to take a look at it...
EDIT: I also just realized that I had some sexually suggestive content in the second paragraph so I redacted it.
[ December 12, 2012, 11:51 PM: Message edited by: SR Dev ]
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