Need to exercise my writing. Dunno if this'll be a warm-up or somethin' bigger.
The smell of lacquered brass and valve oils was particularly strong tonight, you absently note. Your pursed lips pushed more air through the mouthpiece of your trumpet, your breaths scant as you play your quiet tune with your fellow trumpeters. You were actually synchronized quite well with this group, your own notes mixing seamlessly with theirs as you all entertained not only each other, but the audience as well. Sadly, all good things must come to an end, and this particular composition had reached its own. Your lungs emptied out the last of the air in them into your final note, and your swollen lips were finally given a chance to rest, their pain aching through to your cheeks. The applause from the audience was quiet and subdued, much like what you and your fellows just played, and you all responded in kind with quick, subdued bows. Show's over, time to head home.
Your walk backstage is rather sedate, that of a man too unconcerned with life in general. Guess that means tonight's session relaxed you rather nicely, which was good. As you headed towards your trumpet's case one of your fellow players had called out to you.
"Hey!" was his simple greeting as he walked over to you. "That was really nice out there. It's hard to find players who like to keep it nice and quiet like you."
You shrug your shoulders in response. "I'm not feeling very energetic tonight."
He nods in understanding. "Think you'll come back here? I'd love to see more of that little trumpet."
You glance down at the pocket trumpet in your hand. "Looks like it's catching eyes again. I might come back, this place has a nice atmosphere."
He looks at your instrument again. "Outta curiosity, how hard is it to find somethin' like that?"
"Not really that hard," you say to him as you take off the mouthpiece and put it in the case, performing the only disassembly needed for the instrument. "Just look around online for 'em. Be careful of cheaply made chinese ones, though. I know Jupiter and Amati are good brands to get." Your trumpet safely inside its case, you close the latches and pick it up, ready to head out.
"Maybe we'll play again next week?" he looks at you hopefully.
"Maybe," you say simply before walking away to the door and out into the parking lot. You didn't really feel sociable right now.
The night was getting late, but it had still barely broken past midnight. You head over to your car, a little yellow beetle from the seventies, and get inside it. "That was getting a little awkward," you mutter to yourself as you place the case on the floor of the car. Putting the key in and starting it up, your car putters to life and pulls out of the parking lot with all the grace a thirty year old car can muster; whether or not if that's a bad thing you're not really sure, but it at least gives it character. Driving through town gives you time to consider your options, and although you're a little tired your stomach calls to you. Breakfast at night it is.
Pulling up to a curb, you get out of the car and casually stroll into a mostly-empty diner. The place feels like it was built in the thirties, and it looks like it refused to come out of the era as well. Walking over to the countertop, you sit in a stool and give the waitress your order.
"You got waffles and coffee?"
"Don't want anything else with that? Sausage, bacon, eggs..."
"Sausage and eggs will do." With your order placed the waitress heads to the back. After ten minutes she was back with your food, placing it down in front of you and pouring your coffee into a cup. Gingerly grabbing the cup, you raise it to your mouth as you take in that wonderful coffee smell. You hear a phone ringing somewhere behind you, but you pay it no mind as you savor the freshly brewed drink. After sipping some of it to wash away what little drowsiness you had, you glance back up at the waitress, who for some reason hadn't left her spot across the counter. Her face had a strange look to it as she focused on something behind you. Turning around, your own face immediately expresses disbelief at what you see.
The source of the ringing was from an old dilapidated payphone set into the wall. While a phone ringing isn't an unusual sight, the fact that it was a payphone, especially one that looked like it barely even worked, was what made it stand out. You glance back at the waitress who in turn looks at you to confirm that yes, this is actually happening.
[ ] Prank caller or no, this is worth investigating. [ ] Screw it, you're hungry. Ignore it and keep eating.