The Last Set

By two, the room had thinned to the people who had nowhere better to be, which Marta had always considered her true audience. She pulled the next record with her eyes closed. It didn’t matter now. That was the secret nobody paid for: the last set is played for the room itself.

The bar lights came up warm and unflattering. A glass broke somewhere and was applauded. Marta let the low end run a bar longer than she should have, just to feel the floor answer.

When it ended, it ended the way the good nights do — not with silence but with the sound of the room remembering it was a room.