Gemotions

The echo of the music in the restaurant felt like a slap in the face. Inside, in the corner, was a lounge singer in a cheap sequined dress, murdering "Midnight Bloom," his masterpiece. It took all of Leo's strength not to bolt.

He'd built himself up to come here, to hear the song, or his song, but not like *this*. This was like watching his child being mocked. His hand itched to reach for his own guitar, which was in his car.

"Another Chardonnay, please," he said, his voice tight. He would find a way to fix this, to reclaim it. He had to. He wasn't going to let some lounge singer ruin his art.