A Chan’s Saturday Night

The band played loudly and I was fascinated.
My son and I sat there and were taken in completely.
Blues with swing.
Two grinning guitarists grinding blends of rhythm and leads,
supported by swirling swaths of organ magic,
and melodious bottom from the bass, with the snap of snare and high hat.

And the old man got up from his seat.
He straightened his back as much as he could to twist his short frame into nearly an upright position,
and he began walking towards me, as I sat not far from the door.

The noise had gotten to him, I thought.
He’d eaten his Chinese food, and was not staying for this bothersome racket, I thought he thought.
He was followed closely behind by a woman, and she was followed by another older man and a woman.
They are all getting the hell out of here, I thought.

As the old man approached my table, he took a quick left turn away from the exit.
He’s disoriented, I thought.
The pace of the two women and the other man quickened and I nearly got up to help this man.
He now hurried to an open space to the right of the stage.
He reached out his one good arm and twirled the lovely woman with him,
and proceeded to dance like there’s no tomorrow.