By Mary Jones We did what they said and brought her in the evening, just before closing. We put her in the backseat. She whimpered the whole way. Like she knew. At the front desk, I told the young man her name, “Mamma,” and her
By Dean Marshall Tuck Is Ellie smiling at me—or is she just biting her saxophone reed? Her eyes look like she’s smiling. But can you smile and play alto at the same time? Freddie plays, and I realize I’ve lost my place on the chart.