She woke up and saw her accustic guitar still resting at the edge of the fireplace. The fire still sparked, but certainly didn't roar with the intensity it once had. She seldom still needed fire in the mornings. She was a pro at slipping out without a sound. A ninja lover she once told her audience, before playing an original song with that title. But her covers were what made them want her. Her eyes momentarily filled with regret, she quickly dressed, licked her lips and tasted cheap booze; she looked at the bed, he lay there still, naked, unsuccesful, cute, and young like most men. She grabbed her guitar, her keys, bag, and headed to her next city, one bar show, one coffeeshop at a time.