The crowd of people stared at Jim, appalled at what had just transpired.

“Boo!” A drunken cowboy slurred. The man sitting next to him chuckled with the other sycophants seated in the green upholstered booth. The blathering fool continued, “He wuvs that harlot?” He had pointed to the bartender who was red in the face.

There were many ways one could proclaim undying love, but to have the audacity to make such a declarative statement at a mountain cafe was preposterous. Open mic night was for wanna be country stars and old men living out some teenage fantasy. It was not acceptable to stumble onto stage with a group of confusing words scribbled on a page in a tattered spiral notebook.

Jim stood on the tiny stage, mouth agape, while the last breath slipped out of him. He felt like he had been punched. He mustered three last words and then rushed off stage towards the exit.

Jen had no idea how Jim had felt about her until tonight. As the bar resumed its din Jen smacked the insolent drunk and ran after Jim.