A little night club on the back street of Chicago is still sending sweet vibes of jazz at 12:48 am. A girl takes a seat in a dark corner, stage left. Perfect spot in the space to only be seen as a silhouette, but granted just enough light as for the young man on stage to not go without noticing staticy, electric blue eyes. The girl watched the young man sing, from under the brim of her hat, sipping coffee through as straw. The dark young man finishes his last song Purple Haze and shakes hands with the house band. He goes over to the bar to order a drink and, feeling eyes on him, turns to see the girl's electric blue eyes looking right at him.