The bar was nearly empty, save for the woman in the corner with a saxophone. She played with her eyes half-closed, swaying like a caged animal — but something was off. Her fingers hovered a half-beat late, and the growl she forced from the horn had no real breath behind it. She was faking. When she noticed me watching, she froze, then flashed a grin sharp as a claw. “Don’t tell,” she mouthed, and launched into another chorus of fake passion.
Happy writing! 🚀
Once, a trumpet player named Ramon — face like a question mark, hands like confessionals — stayed until dawn. He followed one of her phrases into an alley and found her sitting on an upturned milk crate, sax across her knees like a sleeping child. “You sound like a whole band,” he said. animal sax woman faking