As the small digital clock hit 6:00 pm, Pierre walked into the bar. At 5 feet 8 and face like a school boy, he almost looks younger than me. Only tufts of premature white hair stick out at the back of his deep brown hair to tell the real age.

I could be taken for his guardian. To think that he is past thirty years old never fails to amaze me. Looking at the distorted reflection of me on a wine glass that I was wiping, I look a lot worse that Pierre does.

He's our cook. For occasions, we have to prepare finger food for a party or guests. It falls to him then, to prepare all the right stuff. All sorts of Hors d'oeuvre seem to flow out of his fingers to the customers. If anything, he makes hors d'oeuvre appetizing enough for everyone; people come to The Hourglass for the famous range of hor d'oeuvre by Pierre.

Once he has prepared the shrimps, the chips, thin slices of bread and glazed figs, it's sometime around 8. The earliest customers will come in soon. Filling myself with more of the 17 year old beauty and some sandwich made by Pierre(yes, working at a bar does have some of its pleasures) We sat down to wait for our customers for the night. One question passed over my brain like electric shock.

"Uh Jacques...what day is it today?"

Well.... it's Wednesday." he answered casually, as if he was answering an easy question.

"WHAT!"

I forgot to mention. Wednesdays are music nights. We have guest musicians from different parts of the city, the country even, and the customers will have an enjoyable night of music and alcohol, and the musicians will enjoy free flow of drinks that night, provided that they play good music and behave themselves on a reasonable level.

I am a 'fixed' musician. I play every week. One of the reasons Jacques hired an amateur kid in the first place. I should have known when he let me in tonight. I be he didn't have many guest musicians coming in tonight. I bet he was desperate. My face did not change the slightest, but my mind was racing through a 10 km track in 2 seconds.

"I haven't practiced."

"I know."

"You don't want shitty music"
"'Course not."

"I haven't prepared new songs."

"And?"

"My voice is gone."

"Lies. I can hear it still there."

".....please?"

"Nope."

"After all that's happened Jacques?"

"Nope."

"Why?"

"Because, I am your boss. You still have some time. Good luck."

All this time my voice was turning for the worse. I was pale, getting paler, I was almost about to turn sickly blue. But that did not happen. My emotion did not emerge so well to the surface. Not anymore. Once a fruit full of juice, now it has just....dried up. Concentrated sugar and residues of water left here and there, in a wrinkly sack that once was a beautiful, enticing fruit.

I'd like to believe that it is just as sweet as it is then.

But nobody can tell. Not anymore. Pushing the dread aside, I sat down on the small stool prepared for the grand piano. The red velvet cover is draped over its cruel, curvy body. Its black body seems to be waiting, to drag me back into the darkness that once I had mistaken for light.

The life is not kind to me tonight.

To live, to earn that extra dollars to pay the rent and buy myself another canned soup, I'm going to have to play this tonight. Perhaps I could quit this job and find some job elsewhere. Maybe a clerk? I could work as a part time bartender. Or even a teacher for kids.

But that means I disconnect myself from this place. I hate that even more. Why does it have to be me? I did not prepare anything. This is going to be a disaster....and then I'll probably get fired. Never to return here again.

No.

That can't happen.

The velvet slithered over the piano then finally flew up, covering my sight with deep blood red then revealing the work of art inside. It's black, except for the gold letters that etched in "Steinway" across it's front, and the pedals are brass color, giving off the dull shiny light under the glaring lights for the stage.

Mike is lowered in front of me, then a smattering of applause, and then I will start the evening.

This is when The Hourglass starts to flow.

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen, young and ancient, new and old.

For those of you who didn't know, this is The Hourglass;

For those who wants the time to stop, then hopefully tonight feels longer

For those who wants the time to flow faster, then hopefully tonight feels faster

For the latter I hope it's not because of the fact that you are here.(A slight spread of laughter)

For those of you who wants to know my name may have to buy me a drink(A louder laughter)

No I'm kidding about that.

You may call me as Ikarus. Let's start with an old favorite tonight. Anybody who guesses the song,

You'll get a drink. On me! So try hard ladies and gents."

It's hard to see the audience unless they are sitting right at the front row. The light is blinding, especially when you are getting the spotlight. The Hourglass is not big, like some sort of music hall, but it does still have some basic lightings.

One person did stand out though.

Her face struck me like thunder.

I was all of a sudden all too well aware of myself.

What if I make a mistake? Will she get disappointed?

Will she not come here again and tell her friends never to come here?

If I do this one good, then she will become a regular at here I hope.