First published in Quail Bell.

With the luck of the Irish, I’d landed a plum of a job in the fanciest hotel on the hill, me a mere twelve-year-old in a crisp, bright uniform with a pill box hat the color of my freckles and hair, the newest message boy scrounging tips for cables and notes delivered promptly to various guests of this post establishment. Donovan, that’s me, fast and alert and on the spot with a smile and an itch to succeed at whatever came my way….

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