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Every Friday night, after the last band had played its last set, she would get on stage and sing. She would sing about him; about him leaving, about him not returning.

Before she reaches the refrain of her lament, the band would go back on stage and accompany her.

Nobody knows her name.

Nobody knows where she comes from.

Yet, all the players know her by face, all the waiters and bartenders know her lyrics by heart.

It was on her third appearance when the owner of the bar recognized her.

She was the singer who was once found in the dressing room; found with an empty bottle of pain-killers, downed with a bottle of gin.

The manager does not mind that his bar his haunted.

Every Friday night, she gets on stage and sings the saddest songs.

Which makes everyone order more drinks.



(Art by Argem Vinuya)

Happy Friday the 13th ;-)

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