Not the most exciting picture, but an important scene. Join me in the parking lot next to Davenport Theater where Toby and Emmett see each other for the first time in 15 years:
Tobias waved goodbye and listened to the click-clack of his bass player’s shoes fade as she disappeared down the quiet street. And then he took a deep breath, shivered and turned back to the parking lot.
At first glance, it was empty but for an old jalopy that probably belonged to the lot’s attendant. But there in the shadow of the back wall, with his hands stuffed into the pockets of a trench coat, stood Emmett. A scarf fluttered at his sides, and a fedora sat cocked atop his head. Old Hollywood. Classic.
He looked amazing—even in silhouette.
A breeze swept into the small lot and kicked up leaves littered between them. Tobias bristled and hiked his coat to his neck, letting the waft of air propel him to speak and step forward again. “You been waiting long?”
“No, just a few minutes.” Emmett pushed himself away from the wall and grabbed something from under his arm. As he stepped into the faint light of the tiny parking lot, Tobias gasped, a quiet “Oh shit.”
Emmett walked with a slightly hobbled gait; his cane made an arrhythmic click-pat-click against the asphalt.
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