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Sax Man

(Previous installment)

Again he felt the taste, a phantom on his dry tongue. Dry from playing the sax on the windy bridge for hours, and figuratively from not taking a drink for the past several days. He felt the cold sting of the gin, again, alluring and threatening at the same time. He checked his watch again. 9:35. His shift started in twenty-five minutes and he still had to change into his uniform, and even though the Landmark was only steps away from the hotel he thought he might not have enough time. Lingering those few extra minutes on the bridge, lost in the music while also keeping a hopeful eye out for next passerby who might be generous with spare change, might end up keeping him from the stiff one that would help him through the workday. He debated, as he did on so many other mornings, whether he truly needed it. He thought he still had the will to do without it, but still, it would be such a nice, pleasant addition to his day.

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October 20, 2008 in Fiction | Permalink

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