Last Call

Doc sat at the baby grand, his fingers caressing the keys, old notes drifting out along with the smoke of a smoldering cigarette in a tray on the lid next to the music stand. The club wouldn’t open for another hour, so the tunes were for him alone, memories of decades ago.

Shorty always came in right before eight. His lady worked nights at the hospital, and a young man’s got things to do. Weeknights, the band only played standards, anyway, and…