As the evening chases the sundown, the night eyes deliberately focus.
The work togs hit the floor, as the dancing shoes waltz out the door.
The Friday night revelers save a table for ten.
With the first round down, the conversation amplifies.
The harried waitress, warily intense, quickly traverses the crowded tables.
Then it’s time again for another round. Toss a coin. Who’s buyin’?
The Shapeshifters warm up for the Friday fanfare.
This troupe of eleven animated troubadours ignites the night.
Their music, full, familiar, and euphonic, entices the patrons to dance.
Yet some contented souls just sip and listen, for the music appeases insatiated ears, not just wanton feet.
The bearded vocalist croons favorite tunes; the guitarist, though ingenious, appears whacked!
The flute player’s notes encircle the room luring all ears back to the stage.
The keyboard explodes with two hands mocking ten, as the trombone laughs at the night.
The groupies arrive early to claim the front tier, order their pleasures, anticipating the show.
Two grand size ladies giggle and swoon as the guitarist fires up his hips.
A cowboy, spit-shined, and plainly on the prowl, drinks beer, chewing gum like he’s fanning out a fire.
One young man, drugged out, or truly disturbed, gnaws his fingers to the beat of the drum.
Two lesbians entertain onlookers with their libidinous dance.
It’s the night life, where purple hair and gray coiffures, all delight in the music and gaiety of the night.
But as the dark chases the dawn, the night eyes cease to focus.