Andrew was a dental practitioner. Whilst it said “Dentist” on his office door, the word “Performer” was emblazoned across his heart.
Every last Thursday of the month he’d down tools, grab his suitcase and rush to the moored ferry. A long weekend, the sea, stage lights and rapturous applause would await him.
Whilst he loved to sing to a captive audience with all the glitz and glamour, sparkles and general razzle-dazzle of his routine, he’d still have preferred a stage on dry land. He always found it tricky to shave his legs and apply makeup when the waters were choppy.
This piece was submitted as part of Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. 1 photograph. 100 words. Over 120 people taking part.