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The band were playing some soft mush that’d never heard of Parker and No.3 and No.17 were slumped over each other in the middle of the dance floor like a coupla used rubbers on a park bench.
‘I guess this is where we came in.’  Ed and Two Tone were at a side table for most of the night and conversation had thinned out a long time ago.
‘Nah, I need another drink.’  Two Tone couldn’t see a waiter so he started flicking peanuts at the bartender.
‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you TT.’
The bartender suddenly jerked awake like he’d been hit by a wasp and peered around the tables till he saw TT with his tongue hanging out.
Next thing Ed knew a coupla gorillas in monkey suits lifted TT high over the table and dropped him on his rug.  Ed raised both hands like he’d been dry-gulched by Roy Rogers and the MC switched on the PA with a thump.
‘Would numbers 3 and 17 please leave the floor, you have been disqualified.’  3 and 17 didn’t move.  Ed did.  He eased a five spot onto the table and moved outside.
The clean air made a shiver run across his shoulders and he thought maybe a hot tub and a massage on Lafayette would warm his bones.  He didn’t see the black sedan across the street with a cheap suit at the wheel and a coupla coat hangers in the rear.  Where he was going he wouldn’t need a tailor.

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~ by sheldonross on January 2, 2009.