Harry Connick Jr.
Lloyd Bradley, Q, August 1991
AS THE BAND'S FINAL CHORD dies away, the young man who's been singing tender words of love looks up and flashes his audience a dazzling smile. It's all a bit too much for the ladies in the house, and their squeals reach deafening proportions. Meanwhile, in front of the stage, several hundred pounds of security-conscious muscle braces itself to hold back another hormone-charged onslaught.
Total word count of piece: 973
