Walking along the dimly lit streets, the glow from the windows of the closed shops lined the street as owners changed the displays in the windows. The faint sound of a saxophone whispered in my ear and my tired feet followed the melancholy tune as I stumbled over the paving. I reach the doorframe of a bar where the tuneful sounds originated. I was almost enchanted by the smells of alcohol and smoke and the dim yellow hue of the small lamps on tables. The music became louder as I moved closer and closer to the stage where two men were sat playing music. One man was holding a polished golden saxophone which glinted in the low light as the man’s face puffed up and blew musical noted from his small piece of sheet music out into the solemn bar. His partner by his side singing stories from the bottom of his heart while his fingers brushed the ivory keys. Turning back to the bar I trudge up and place myself on a stool and let out a deep sigh as my hands meet each other on the counter in front of me. A light “what can I get for you son?”, echoed through a bartenders mouth as she walked towards me on the other side of the bar. “Something strong,” I reply as I slide a few notes across, towards her. “Coming right up,” she smiled back at me as she started to make my drink with different glass bottles that let out a small ‘clink’ as she put them down onto the counter. As I look around see the other people here, everyone is calm amongst the light chatter and music that was dancing through the hues of table lamps. Smoke that was blown from peoples mouths fills the air and floats around the room with a spicy scent that fills my lungs. A glass is handed to me as well as some copper coins that make a noise as they bounce against the table. Still, everyone is calm and yet cheerful, the atmosphere is slow yet flowing as the rhythm coming from the stage goes through everyone like electricity. There is no worries of prejudice or oppression here, and through the smoke and the bitter taste of my drink I can sense a small bit of pride and proudness beating through peoples conversations.
And another excellent piece of descriptive writing:
A melancholy tune echoed through the cobble-stoned path of Lennox Avenue, the only sound that filled the Harlem Renaissance. The trees danced with me as I strolled towards the muffled music of blues. As the music grew louder, the moon-lit road seemed to shine, glistening for the joy to hear a drowsy, syncopated tune. I followed the sound ‘till my feet came to a halt at a drained parlour. My hand reached for the stained glass of the red-coated door, which felt like a portal to us.
A scent of seasoned monkey-nuts and homemade moonshine ran to my nose as the muffled tune became a clear song. Mellow empty stools sat at the bar, covered in peanut shells and cigarette ashes. The life-less waiter stood behind the island stripped from its paint, it’s years of laughter gone. “Could I get you anything?” she asked working her last shift. I shook my head and she continued to wipe the grim off the glasses with the tip of her apron. The dust was visible against the dim light of the parlour, I stared at the floor saddened by the atmosphere, until I remembered why I was there.
I turned to see an elongated man wearing a ragged suit who lazily swayed on a rickety stool. The only light was an old gas lamp which flickered barely, the glow giving dim colour to his face. His ebony hands played singular chords on the ivory keys with his foot tapping like bass. “Ain’t nobody in this world, ain’t got nobody but myself” the man mumbled, head bowed. The ancient piano moaned with every key, becoming more and more distorted.
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