G unn The woman sauntered into the tavern and sat down on the stool in front of the piano.
She rolled up her sleeves, revealing a liver spot tattoo the size of Shamu the Whale. And that was her second most prominent feature. She studied the keyboard as if it was the final exam for a college podiatry course she had no recollection of ever taking, although the lowermost octave did seem to resemble a cut-away diagram of a bunion she had once seen. The candy corn wired to the music rack likewise recalled her art major roommate's hilarious send-up of the callus exhibit in the medical school's commissary. Unbidden, the barkeep, a former chess master with a checkered past, sidled up to her and poured her a plantar's wart punch.