walking back to my car alone?
Didn’t feel like a win. Because I still didn’t find her. But I knew I would-soon.
The bar looks different in daylight.
No bass thumping through the floor. No bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder. Just chairs stacked upside down, sunlight slanting through dusty front windows, the low hum of a refrigerator working overtime. Someone’s in the back arguing about specials. Garlic and bleach in the air at the same time.
Mike’s behind the bar in a T-shirt that says STAFF on the back, sleeves rolled, clipboard in hand. The owner—Frank, I learned—stands near the register, counting bills, chain wallet clinking every time he moves.
They both look up when I walk in.
“You’re early,” Mike says.
“I don’t like wasting people’s time.”
Frank nods once. “That’s already a point in your favor.”
I set my case down near the small stage area—really just a raised corner by the windows. I open it carefully.
The guitar inside is the one my mom bought me.
Used. Scratched. Warm wood.
The kind that’s been played enough to remember hands.
I sling it over my shoulder, check the tuning by ear. No rush. No nerves.
This isn’t a performance.
This is just me.
Mike leans his elbows on the bar. “Whenever you’re ready.”
I start with Dave Matthews—something rhythmic, easy to sit into. The kind of song that fills a room without demanding it. My fingers find the strings like they’ve been waiting all week.
The sound blooms soft and full.
I sing low, not trying to impress. Just letting the notes sit where they want.
Frank stops counting.
I roll straight into Barenaked Ladies, a song everyone knows even if they swear they don’t. A little smile creeps into my voice without me meaning it to. Muscle memory. Comfort.
Someone in the kitchen pokes their head out.
“Is that live?” a voice asks.
Mike doesn’t answer. He’s watching me now.
I play a third—something lighter, almost playful. The kind of thing people hum along to without realizing they’re doing it.
When I finish, I let the last chord fade on its own.
No rush.
Silence hangs for a second.
Then Frank exhales. “Yeah. That’ll do it.”
