MIDNIGHT BLUES

He sat alone in the corner of a small Madrid bar, a forgotten figure in a room that had long stopped noticing him. His spoon traced slow circles through a cup of cooling coffee, the soft clink barely audible beneath the low murmur of the crowd.

On the dimly lit stage, the blues band eased into a late‑night groove where frenq’s saxophone cried with a weary tenderness, while pbelgium’s guitar answered in warm, smoky phrases that curled through the room like incense.

The man’s eyes drifted toward the music, but not quite into it—his thoughts were somewhere far beyond the bar’s cracked tiles and flickering neon. Memories rose and fell like tides, carrying him through old regrets, half‑forgotten loves, and the quiet weight of years lived too fast and remembered too slowly.

Around him, rumour swelled, glasses clinked, and life carried on. Yet he remained suspended in his own stillness, wrapped in a solitude only the blues could understand.

And as the band played on, the night deepened, folding him gently into its melancholy embrace.

Midnight Blues.



    Instrumental
    • 89 bpm
    • Key: A