Midnight at the Velvet Stage
Midnight at the Velvet Stage The club smelled like gin and decisions you'd regret in the morning. I stood at the bar, tie loosened, and watched her sing. Velma Ray. That's what the flyer said. The font was cheap—neon pink on black cardstock—but the voice was not. It came through the club's single microphone like a blade drawn slow: all friction and promise. She wasn't pretty in the way that...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews