Professor Bloom meets a cat in heat
I'm a man of simple tastes. I like my alcohol neat, my shooters of the Doom variety, and my macaroni and cheese to have a slightly burnt top. There's nothing quite extraordinary about me, if I had to describe myself. But every Saturday night I sing at a jazz lounge, and everything mundane about the world just simply evaporates. Tonight is such a night, and I find myself backstage nursing a glass of Basil Hayden's before my set. My undone bow tie threatens to fall off from around my neck as I finish the glass. I try to keep a neat appearance, but the bar manager suggested I try a more relaxed look. Placing my hat on the stool next to me, I run the set list in my head one more time for good measure. It's about time to start, I think to myself as I brush the curtain aside and step onto the stage with the rest of the band. The rafter lights pop on suddenly, and I make my usual bad opening jokes as the band makes their adjustments and tunes up. Finally ready to start, the ...