SILHOUETTE NIGHTS

Monday Nights Are Silhouette Nights

Don't  Miss'em 

Introduction Part 1

My Dear Whisper‑Collector of the Night,

The fog has been curling low over the harbour again, the kind that softens the streetlamps and makes every footstep sound like a secret trying not to be overheard. It is on such a morning that I bring you the very first issue of Silhouette Nights, your quarter‑sheet companion to the crooked grins, blue‑note melodies, and sideways rain that make our Downtown Eastside the most honest liar of a neighbourhood you will ever meet.

Now, between you and me and the crooked lamppost on Hastings, the Silhouette Jazz Lounge has been humming like a warm rumour. Slick Shadow and his Silhouette Jazz Band have been playing with that slow‑burn swagger that makes even the walls lean in to listen. Clyde Lords has been strutting about as if he owns the joint, and Vernon Jones has been smiling that quiet smile of his, the one that says he knows exactly how the night will end but will never spoil the surprise.

In the poolhall out back, Jonny Weir has been refereeing disputes over nickels, pride, and the occasional questionable bank shot. The Bistro has been serving late suppers to lovers, loners, and those who cannot decide which they are yet. And somewhere in the alley behind the club, a rumour strutted past me wearing perfume and trouble, whispering that this city is about to turn another page.

As the sax cried its lonely tune last night, I caught a whisper worth your quarter, and I will be bringing you every crooked truth, tender moment, and fog‑kissed mystery this city dares to offer. This is your window into the velvet hours, your lantern in the rain‑washed blocks, your invitation to walk with me through the neon mile where stories grow like weeds and bloom like miracles.

Your Companion in the Soft‑Lit Corners,

Stormy Nights