Let's hear that trombone sound.
You're gettin' paid to make some noise;
The dames are crowdin' 'round.
The chaps have finished sippin' gin
And now it's time to dance.
They want a tune to dip and spin
And kick up some romance.
A young thing needs a break at night
From white barrage balloons,
From broadcasts, blackout drapes, cordite,
Junkers across the moon.
The music's really pickin' up.
The piano's lost a string.
There's no one in a smoky club
But loves a chance to swing.
It's hard to hear the sirens wail -
The saxophone is grand -
For death is sorry, weak and pale
But life's a big swing band.
It was late and the nightclub you had entered was jam-packed. Everywhere you looked there were people dancing to the explosive beat that pulsed from the large speakers, and drunken souls making fools of themselves. Normally, you weren't comfortable in places such as this, but tonight you had made an exception. Because tonight you had every reason to party.
From your place at the bar you could see everything that the club had to offer. From its flashing lights, to its excellent sound-system and wide variety of beverages, it was pure heaven. Well, to any hardcore clubber at least.
You sighed gently as you took another sip from your glass of water, and moved to ask the bartender for another when someone exhaled loudly right next to you. You already knew who it was before you turned to look, but it was a sad fact that you couldn't blow off your companion forever. No matter how tempting the idea might be.
Darcy Lewis stood in all