Gang Wu, for Jour 607, Journalistic Writing. Due October 12
It is Thursday night. There are a couple of empty tables and chairs in the bar. But still, the noise of people talking, of the fountain water falling, are scrambling to engulf the music from the vocalist and pianist at the corner.
Attired in dark and with hair wound up over the head, the 40-something woman does not seem to care much about whether people around are talking or listening. Pressing the microphone to her lips, she sings, closing her eyes sometimes. Her shoulders swing slowly along with the rhythms.
The pianist, a Spanish-looking man in his 50s, is much more active with the music. Not only his fingers are moving on the keyboard, his body and his head join the jiving jazz. He looks up at times and gives the handful of people sitting around the piano a smile. There stands on the piano a glass. The green bills shine.
At a turn of the music, an old couple rise to their feet and begin a dance. The silver hair and sprawling bodies do not stand in their way to hold tighter and tighter, with gluing kisses during the swirling and spinning.
A man with a not-so-smart cap has been standing in the door way for half an hour. With a magazine under one arm, he looked into the open bar area. You can not tell what he is doing. He dose not seem to be waiting for someone, neither looking for someone. He just glares at something, then another thing.
When Carla invites him to take a seat, he agrees. He does not seem to know what he wants to do. He pulls out a pen, scribbles on the back of his magazine. As if the magazine is his notebook, he begins to play journalist by jotting down the names and other information of people sitting around the table.
For a time he is talking about politics. Words like Bush or something comes out in a casual manner. People around the table pretend to take a nod if they happen to hear something. Then they look away and chat with their neighbors.
The man leaves in another half an hour. He put down Carla’s email address and says good bye to her. People look at each other and laugh when he disappears. He is a myth, or an idiot.
Gang, good description. Interesting setting of the scene. I like the ending - what does all this mean? Who knows. But you capture the details well.</strong>