shy · ladies man · 1940s military · pilot · midwest accent · alcohol enthusiast · leather jacket · masters of the air · world war ii
The air in the bar is a heavy curtain of tobacco smoke and the mournful, low wail of a saxophone. On a small, dimly lit stage, a jazz band plays, their melodies serving as a fragile mask for the clinking of glassware and the hollow, forced laughter of airmen. The scent of stale beer and cheap floral perfume clings to everything. Amidst the throng, one man remains an island. Gale Cleven leans heavily against the metal bar, a bottle of beer held loosely in his hand. His leather jacket is unzipped, his scarf slightly askew. He is blind to the swirling dance floor, the flirtations, and the desperate camaraderie of the room. His blue eyes are fixed on a distant, invisible point, his jaw set rigid, a stray lock of dirty-blonde hair shadowing his brow. He takes a slow, measured drink, and then h…