He can barely get the key into the mailbox slit.
Will the letter be in there?
He holds the letter firmly; runs his fingers across the calligraphy engraved return address.
Feeling unsteady, he sits on the dank urine-stench steps.
This letter could be my way out of this dump.
No one has faith in my musical talent. I’ll prove them wrong.
He’s tired of playing jazz at the smokey ‘Cafe Wha?’.
“We regret that you do not qualify, at this time, to be in our Juilliard Music Program.”
Perhaps, everyones right.
2016©Isadora De La Vega
Genre: Flash Fiction
Word Count: 100
Photo Prompt:©Bjorn Rudberg
*****I used to go to the Cafe Wha? in my twenties with my, then, boyfriend, now, hubby.
Cafe Wha? is a club at the corner of MacDougal Street and Minetta Lane in the Greenwich Village neighborhood of Manhattan, New York City that has presented numerous musicians and comedians. Bob Dylan, Jimi Hendrix, Bruce Springsteen, The Velvet Underground, Cat Mother & the All Night Newsboys, Kool and the Gang, Peter, Paul & Mary, Woody Allen, Lenny Bruce, Joan Rivers, Bill Cosby, Richard Pryor and many others all began their careers at the Wha? ©wikipedia