just one sip

Early morning light filters through the dirty windows of the bar.  Vert yawns and stretches, the bottles and glasses clinking as her feet brushes passed them.  She sits up and rubs the sleep from her eyes.  Another long night of drawing the marrow from the bone.  All work and no play makes Vert a dull girl.

She slides off the mahogany bar and manifests a robe of dove grey silk.  Smoke and dreams.  Her fingers play over the keys of the rickety old piano, picking out a few random notes.

A new morning, a new day, another chance to find a potential to inspire to greatness.

[cont'd at mixed_muses , here]