8Oh-5oH [Always Open]

The club 8Oh-5oH, seemed calm tonight. Some drunken people walked in and out of the club. Mostly men with their arm slung around women whom clung to them, others were groups of friends, and some were teenagers who got by security. Though the club had a reputation not to check IDs, the bouncers felt that if someone looked too young then they were not allowed in. If one played their cards right, they could get in without being noticed.
The only way Fang got the job was because they were desperate and needed someone to play, he was sure any moment now they would hand him his last pay check and kick him out.

Fang had his white, dress shirt sleeves rolled up to the middle of his forearms, his true name appearing just slightly below his sleeves. He scanned the club, tables filled the front of the club, near the entrance, to each side of the building laid two counters serving various of drinks. The whole room seemed to be constantly filled with cigarette smoke. Fang felt like coughing because of the toxin, though being in the club for far too long, he seems to be use to it. "It's like no matter how long I'm here I still dislike the smell." Fang thought as he stepped onto his stage.

On the stage sits a beautiful black piano, the glossy finish shined a nice blue and red color from the reflecting bar lights. Fang sat on his bench in front of the keys. He had the sudden feeling of belonging, like he normally did when he was in front of any piano. A sense that filled Fang's stomach, head, and heart. An emotion that normally came to people when they found their place in life. "Is this my place?" Fang asked himself silently. "Is this where I'm suppose to be? Where I'll always be... For the rest of my life? Doing nothing but sitting at a piano and playing for drunks? Playing for little first graders?"

Fang stared at the keys, to everyone who so happened to know or would like to know how to possibly play the piano, or to those whom just so happened to be looking, would more than likely assume Fang to be thinking of what song to play. Though, Fang wasn't even thinking about a note or a melody. Instead Fang's mind was wondering, "I feel so content being here, I love playing this music, but I can't stand being around these types of people. None of them will ever understand how I feel being around a piano.."

After a minute, Fang lifted his hands up to the piano keys, moving with grace his fingers felt like they slipped in between the keys. Creating music that flowed from his heart into the air and within ears. "Feeling music being pulled away from the soul, is like feeling love being pulled away from the heart."