Rodeo and Veronica
There's no stopping him. And believe it, folks have tried. But Rodeo hasn't stopped singing even once in the last forty minutes, and as warm and pleasant as his voice might be, he won't stop singing even when folks try talking to him. The only thing he'll shut his trap for is another drink, and even then it's just to wet his whistle for some more croonin'.
He digs the song that's playing from the stack of stereos now. He sings along, strolling through the crowd, looking for somebody who looks fit for a dance. When he spots a familiar head of bright blond hair, Rodeo doesn't hesitate to reach out, placing a hand on Veronica's waist to turn her away from the Dog trying to chat her up. Rodeo's other hand takes hers, and he releases the grip on her waist to lift their joined hands and give her a spin.
"I'm gonna write a letter, telephone every town I know. If I don't find her in West Panama, she'll be in East Monroe I know," Rodeo sings, his voice all grit and mahogany as he spins Veronica into the dance.