The snap-case was blue. It was that kind of year. Broken heart, taxmen at the door and for whatever reason all the home baseball games were rained out. Only the soothing sounds of Billie Holiday over the Victrola did anything to raise it’s spirits.
One day the snap-case went out into the soggy air, and bought a new album. The first in months. Billie Holiday’s Recording session #45, 1941. When the snap-case got home, it put the 78 on the radio.
Like a warm cup of coffee on a starry night, the snap-case founds itself melting from its perpetual glower.
The needle skipped.
When it resumed, a new song creeped across the listening wallet. The words were haunting.
Sunday is gloomy
My hours are slumberless
Dearest the shadows
I live with are numberless
Slowly, color drained out of the sky. Soon, it leaked out of the living room. By the time the song was over, there was only one thing with color in it; and it had never had color before now.
It was the snap-case. It was blue.
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