The streets are full and no Cassie, no Shirley, no Trish, no Mercury, no Lindy, and no Mr. Carson Sigmund.
I am freezing. Everyone is caroling. I can see the light in the Riverside is still on – Cassie must just be running late. Perhaps a quick shot of whiskey is in order.
The sign on the door says “CLOSED” but she’s still behind the bar. Someone is sitting there talking to her … who is that? Who is gesticulating … madly? Yes, this person seems mad, waving her arms in the air, pointing. Why it’s … Shirley? Shirley Scott?
Do I knock? Do I interrupt?
No. No, I do not.
I wait.
For now, there are lights to be lit.
Gunnar Olafsson