Frank Sinatra said that the purpose of a lounge singer is to sell drinks. The sadder you make 'em, the more they drink. The raison d'etre.
Tonight, I am just too far away from home to get home. Feeling the strain ACUTELY. Only Beverly Hills, Chicago or New York can make a Friday night away painless. Or mildly so.
So, I go to my favorite place in this town. Not B.H., Chicago or NYC. And they have a young lady singing in the lounge. Playing the piano. No doubt a student at the local (acclaimed) music school. I was all right until she leveled a murderer's row of tunes, including
Somewhere Over The Rainbow
You Were Always On My Mind
Fire And Rain
You Don't Know Me
Goin To Carolina (In My Mind)
I Want To Go Home
She drove me to the (singerless) bar of the Hilton. Frank would have been proud.
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