Change purposely entered the tavern from his broom closet, advancing along the perimeter of the main area with a wide-brim witchy hat lopsidedly set atop his head, hiding the kitsune ears beneath. He trotted toward one of the windows with a jolly bounce in his
flip-flop gait, where he collected the broom long-resting upon the window's frame. He pulled it along in his wake - to the jukebox that met him with happy lights and an array of music he'd never gotten to peruse thus far. The young man gently bit the tip of his tongue while removing his hat, and he placed it on top of the machine. The flip-flops came off.
Only a few moments passed, and Change replaced his wallet underneath the hat and swept up his broom into a windmill dance to the jukebox's enthusiastic sound.
"It's nine o'clock on a Saturday. The regular crowd, shuffles in," spinning him off across the tavern. His feet and the straw head of his broom kicked up whatever dirt and dust had collected on the floors, scattering it all into the air.
"There's an old man sitting next to me," he sang, gesturing to an empty table seat which stopped his tracks.
"Making love to his tonic and gin." The following harmonic tugged widely at Change's lips, brightening his face with the glow of a smile. He stood back up straight, wielding the broom like a pole weapon, and faced his opponent - the airborne dust.
"Gotcha. He says~"
[Son, can you play me a memory?
I'm not really sure how it goes,
But its sad, and its sweet, and I knew it complete]
Change forfeited singing along his enthusiasm so as to whip about the beat of his broom just as the dust began to settle. All across the tavern he whirled, swinging and lashing out at the haze that began to linger around his feet. And just as the whirlwind ended, and Change stood triumphantly over the collected pile, his song rang out,
"When I wore a younger mans clothes."
[La la la, de de da~
La la, de de da da da.
Bum - Bum - Bum]
He descended upon the pile with a dustpan - retrieved during his dance - to scoop up all that previously coated the tavern floor, singing along,
"Sing us the song, you're the piano man." He stood up with the filled pan.
"Sing us a song tonight." He approached the nearest trash can.
"Cause we're all in the mood for a melody," with the pan tilted over it, to spill its contents away.
"You've got us feeling all right."