His hands are shaking.

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?’.

“Dear Randolph,” 

“We regret that you do not qualify, at this time, to be in our Juilliard Music Program.”

Uncontrollably sobbing.

Perhaps, everyones right.

2016©Isadora De La Vega

 

Genre: Flash Fiction

Word Count: 100

Photo Prompt:©Bjorn Rudberg

To join Rochelle and her Friday Fictioneers challenge
click here 

*****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