Barstool blues

She dances at the corner of the club. Her man sits close to her on a barstool, sipping ale. They're both Irish, and both feel rather at ease. Occasionally she'd get closer to him, and would wheel around as if inviting him to stand up and dance with her, which he'd invariably deny with a smile. At his smallest nod the bartender will duly bring him another bottle of beer. A band of four is playing old blues. Their playing is acceptable, good enough to get dancers dancing. On the opposite corner two couples enjoy the performance and clap at the end of every song, as everyone else does. Their conversation has come to an end a while ago. They find themselves in the middle of that uncomfortable spell of time that happens whenever conversations come to an end. They listen to the music, tap their feet rhythmically, and clap politely at the end of every song. They are too self-conscious to take a step further and actually enjoy their night out. The Irish woman keeps dancing in the corner, quite clearly having a helluva time. The four bores on the opposite corner glance  at her with envious eyes, never forgetting to clap at the end of every song.