Feet tap and glasses clank, tills ring and heads nod, fingers jive and necks bob, empty glasses become full and exchanged for monetary replacement, all in rhythm, out of rhythm and around the rhythm, as Esther Edith and her Ragtime Band play duelling music at differing speeds.
The Six Sentence Café & Bistro, full to capacity and then some, sways as the piano honky-tonks, the saxophone saxes, and the drums beat around each other, their combined musical tones bringing on an eruption of euphoria to all those gathered in this quaint, out of the way, place.
“Better than last night’s ventriloquist act,” last night’s ventriloquist act jokes whilst sitting at the bar, taking a drink from a brown glass bottle, then using the bottle to tap the air in time with the low notes from the piano.
“Not as good as tonight’s hypnotist though,” tonight’s hypnotist, sitting on the next stool, replies.
“Amazing,” the Bartender smiles broadly, beaming, as she slides over a tall glass of fresh orange juice to the bar in front of the ventriloquist; the hypnotist taps the glass with a fork, once, twice, once, twice, once, twice, twice, once.
The ventriloquist stops moving suddenly, blinking; he looks around the empty room, and then at the Bartender and the hypnotist, saying, “But you’re right… I do like ragtime after all!”
A second post for Six Sentence Stories, where the prompt word this week is ‘Eruption’.
The Mansionic Perspective 
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