Angie

I often go down to The Gem. A bar in Collingwood, it's tucked away on Wellington street, away from the more popular joints, The Tote, The Rochester, The Birmingham.
It's decor is ridiculous and charming. Elvis adorns the walls in various forms; a rug, a framed copy of TV week, a watermarked mirror, a photograph from is 1968 comeback tour.

The same band has played Sunday nights for the last 4 months. Small groups of dedicated followers of the simple, rockabilly band come almost every week. As one a part of one of those groups, I have slowly met a few of the other devotees, recognising them and saying hollow the weeks that I go.
Angie was relatively new to the weekly ritual. I'd only seen her since January or so. Tonight I sat beside her at the bar. She'd already met another friend of mine - Ezbon, who was a much more dedicated attendee than myself. Ezbon had been the impetus to myself and many of our friends attending in the first place.

In her early fifties at a guess, and very well kept and well dressed, Angie leaned over and ask,
"I'm sorry, I don't remember your name."
That broke the ice, and as she tapped her foot along to the music, we passed banter about the evening back and forth.

One moment struck me, was when she looked over after a quip from the Double-bassist about Mother's day.
She laughed. "He's been going on about mother's day all weekend! I'm not a mother! I was almost once. My son would have been thirty-nine if he has lived."
Then she just went back to dancing in her seat, cat-calling the lead guitarist.
Amazing.

Maria

The room pulsed with the collective heart of a Friday night. I could barely hear Maria over the noise or the bar, glasses clinking, people talking, shoes shuffling, coat cast aside, laughter, instruments being tuned for the next band.
Maria was a friend of a friend of mine, Who I had bumped into that night at random. She was more interested in talking to him than to me. She suggested they go to a house party after the bar, and I don't remember how, but I heard mention of VCA.
Steeled by beer and atmosphere, I bullishly tried to assert myself in the conversation.
"What do you do at VCA?" I asked.
"Music" Maria said.
And that was that.

Tyron

Tyron is a double-bass player. He plays with various bands and artists. As it stands, he's performed at 5 gigs in the last 3 days, 3 just today. 

Tonight it's with The ReChords, at The Gem, a pub with the sympathy for Elvis adornments and wooden fixtures.

Tyron looks sheepish as he stands with a friend of mine and I, outside smoking in the new dark.

"I'm sorry, I don't think I remember your name" he says.

The buxom lady depicted on his forearm flexes as he extents his hand.

"Oh no", I say, "I don't think we have ever exchanged names! I'm Monique."

He looks relieved.

"Good to meet you."