The canine walked steadily up to the microphone. Her movements were measured, as if every step tapped into a reserve of energy that had nearly been drawn dry. As the music began, she gave a heavy sigh, then she began to sing.
Her voice carried the gravitas that only comes with ages of experience. The deep, husky tone of her low alto spoke to the years she had spent on small stages like this. A story of someone who never got their big break, but who always did just well enough top keep singing. It was the voice of a woman who had seen stuff in her life. Some of it would make it into her music. Most of it wouldn’t. She knew some stories were best left untold. She leaned heavily on the microphone stand upon the poorly-lit stage, holding it in the way one embraces their best friend, as her husky voice cut through the din near the bar. She was damn sure going to be heard by anyone who’d listen.
At the end of her set, about half the patrons applauded. Most of the others were too drunk or lost in the music to notice she’d stopped singing. The lady rottweiler stepped just as purposefully off stage as she’d walked on. Tomorrow night would be just another gig.
No comments yet. Be the first!