He came to take something back
For a cold night, it was hot tonight: the music, the dancers, the laughter. Everyone in their bright finery had crowded into Harold’s establishment to drink and sing and dance and forget for a time the knee-deep snow, the day’s drudgery, the war, their own forgottenness. Jazz rattled the windows and bottles and bones while money and drink and bodies flowed freely. Who couldn’t be happy?