The Poetry Reading


I walked into the dark blue tinted room about thirty minutes late. There were around eight people in scattered groups of twos and threes talking in low voices but occasionally interacting familiarly with the rest of the people in the room.

 

The dark light was spotted with white glowing candle flames sitting on the tables spread evenly about the room. At the back there was a small bar with plenty of different bottles stacked up around it, and beside it a stage was laid out backed by a picture of a wide blue ocean scene warmly illuminated by a single spotlight centred on a single microphone.

 

I walked to a small table in the centre and put my bag down on a chair and walked straight to the bar and shook hands with its occupant, a short but long haired and bearded man wearing a black baseball cap.

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