[MUSIC PLAYING]
My lady's song, low jazz score fades in.
“Billy Holliday's lover man, a matchlights, cigarette smoulders,”
fade up on a city night. Some men drive for a living, some drive to forget. Saltyed both. Razor unsheathed, a woman's mom, a gunshot echoes, limo door slams. Sal marino had one rule, keep your hands on the wheel and your head down.
“But when Vince Delora calls and two women with a tape”
that could bring down a senator, slide into the back seat, you don't just drive, you survive. I scared a sal, the barber. He'd done but an old fucking has been with a razor in his sleeve. Slacy sound, a man screams, a dawn crowns, jazz crashes
into disco.
“Blackmail, betrayal, blood, a girl with no future, a man with no past,”
and a crime family that never forgets.
He saved me. That's why I hate it. I don't save people. I drive. That's not where you end up.
That's on you. From table read podcast comes a noir drenched Odyssey
through the underworld of sex, silence, and second chances.
One fire is screams, limo pews out, then silence. But wasn't about the money for the girl, not really. It was about what's left when you got nothing left to lose. My lady's song, coming soon, only on table read podcast. You're the one who's loving night.
That's my lady's song. Play it on my lawn. From the heartbreak to the heat, feel that you might earn your feet.
