The singer stepped into the spotlight. Standing in the blinding light for what felt like an eternity, she scanned the bar. Her eyes landed on a couple first. They sat across from one another, but the table couldn’t seem to keep them apart; their hands closed the little distance between them as they shared intimate whispers. Looking down, she fumbled with her sunflower charm bracelet wishing that someday she wouldn’t have to. She pulled her sleeve up and fixated her gaze at a lone man at the far counter, his back towards the stage. Empty glasses were his only company. Just then, he ordered another drink to join the rest. A blonde in a bright, sparkly red dress approached the bar. She leaned over just enough for the bartender to see her cleavage—just enough to get a drink on the house. She turned around and waved at her best friend, Melody, on the stage. The brown-haired girl on the stage smiled as the radiant blonde gave a thumbs up and mouthed stop stalling. Melody gulped and approached the microphone. This is it, she thought. Her hands began to shake so she grabbed the microphone as hard as she could. She closed her eyes and thought of all the times she sung to the flowers of her mother’s garden. So she sang. She sang to all the wilting and blossoming flowers of the bar.