She sang. Her beautiful voice rang out through the dense smoke in the room, pushing out into the ears, minds and hearts of the patrons. The band began to play, their music swinging through the air.
Feet began to tap, then arms started rising, and before they knew it - they were dancing, without a care in the world. Moving to and fro. Gliding across the floor. Sliding up and down. No one danced consistently. This was their show, they were going to perform how they wanted to.
A saxophone pierced through the rest of the instruments, blurting out a solo as the singer took a rest, followed by a guitar, the bass and finally the singer coming back in.
Suddenly, the song ended. Everyone stopped, and returned to their drinks. The singer turned to her band, and thanked them profusely. She called out into the microphone.
"Everyone raise a hand for the Saunders Jazz Orchestra!" She started clapping, and soon the whole room erupted into applause. "Now, for our next song, a little ditty about love, and what it takes. It's called If You Should Want the Moon." She took a deep breath, and sang.
The process repeated itself.