why an accordian? Why any of this? Where did it come from?

I went to write a letter today to someone and instead I seem to have spit out a tiny piece of fiction. I haven’t touched this at all. No editing. Barely a scan to check for spelling errors. Any thoughts?

*launch the accordion solo*

“This… you know what this is for”. She looks pointedly for a moment of silence at someone in the audience. Her dress is uninteresting but the way she holds the look says she wants you to want to find out what she could do with what’s underneath it. Then the voice begins. Her singing is a mix of spoken word and passionate scratch. Whisky voiced singing. Losing the notes singing. Suddenly, you are bored and feel like leaving. There’s nothing here you haven’t heard a hundred times before. You stretch a bit unobtrusively where you stand at the back and sneak a planning look at the exit across the room. Would it be better to wait until she’s done or simply walk out hunched over in front of everyone? You start to contemplate routes and it hits you. Being outside is an improvement, but you don’t even want to hang around. Your friends are in the next set, but it’s not even worth it. Outside the air is cooler. After the heat inside, it’s more than refreshing. You do it, just go. You know the girl on stage has seen you, but you don’t care. The look at the beginning wasn’t for you. She’s looking for someone to leave money on the table in the morning and last time it was supposed to be you, but last time you made certain she knew you weren’t interested. There’s people standing in the doorway, but it’s only a second to slip past them. The sky above is dark and you look up, letting the blue sooth your thoughts. Your arms involuntarily reach for the sky and you slip your shirt off over your head. The smokers give you a look, but you simply tuck it into the belt of your blue cut-offs. It’s the summertime, what should they care. Desire – you want to be out of this city. You want to be somewhere the streetlights don’t burn quite so orange. There’s a girl waiting for you out there. Now her it’s nice to see naked. You even know her name, but she’s somewhere far away. She’s next to the ocean, over the mountains. For a second you remember a snippet of your last conversation with her and you smile. It’s funny how life flows sometimes. You realize as you walk away from the club that you left half a beer unfinished on the counter and it doesn’t matter. You’re not going back.

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