“What is this Sparrow?”
She pulls back, like questions have never graced her ears.
“Just thanking you I guess.” Sparrow pulls a sleeve of her shirt back over a slender shoulder. “But its cool if your not into it.” Her eyes hit the floor. I take her hands in mine.
“No, I’m into it. Just, I don’t know…” I decide the best course is to just kiss her. I could ask more questions than I would ever want answers for right now. But for once in my life, I just act.
And then the minutes move fast, and before I’m ready, the knock comes from the door.
“Mrs. Sprite, your own in a few,” a voice from outside yells. I notice the sounds of the club again , the bass coming through the walls, the anthem of young adults blaring, and wonder again, how I ended up here?
Sparrow is putting on a ripped jean jacket, (great stage wear by the way), and lighting a cigarette.
“Want to watch from the side?” she asks, and I nod. A few minutes later I’m watching Sparrow Sprite control the crowd, envelope the room with her voice, and I think more than once, that she’s looking my way. To the guy who just happened to be outside the 7-11 a few nights earlier.
When shots rang out.
—–continued.