Joey Alexander knows he is good (fornothing) wrote in rooms,
Re: log: joey & ella, gatsby
"Yeah," he said of finding the place without any problems. Grid system streets didn't need any real directions or drawn penpoint paths on journal paper. Navigating streets, even old ass ones that looked brand fucking new, proved to be just like riding a bike. A childhood spent hopping fences and ducking into storm drain shortcuts was good for something after all, even if it was just a keen sense of north versus south. All of those formative Mapquest and GPS years were spent inside a steel cage, so steerage came from common sense and signs. Although the place that Ella sang at proved not to really be the kind of place for big, bright signs… but again, if there was anything that Joey had really learned to recognize from a mile off, it was a criminal enterprise. Some things just stayed familiar.
Some other girl was singing now, and the music was the soft tinkling of piano keys that made for gentler conversation and less raised voices. It felt a lot more intimate than he'd expected, this little table and the lamp light and her hands in gloves. He scratched at the side of his neck, sensitive from the fresh shave, and gestured with a tick of his head toward the stage. "I didn't know you could sing like that." He'd known that she sang, but the reality of it had felt like distant shadows, eclipsed by the possibility of just seeing her. Until that moment when he'd walked in the joint and there she was, bright like the solar flare of a sun emerging from the other side of the moon. Then it struck him, she was a singer. Like a real singer.
"You're good," he said in the lip-bit compliment of somebody who was uncertain as to whether or not they were qualified to say one way or the other. "Sound like a.. movie or something." He thought of the old films from the days when actresses were expected to sing and dance and the whole nine yards that extended beyond just being a pretty face.