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February 14, 2007

Tanya: Untitled

She’d always had a thing for the cello. The sound, the size, the way it fit between the legs. And she had a thing for cellists. She snuggled now against the Symphony’s brand new first chair, blankets crumpled, his hair still slightly damp with sweat.

She smiled at him, enrapt, as he relived the evening. She watched the sparkle in his eyes and heard the pride in his talent, as he recalled the performance and the ovations.

“My first night. Did you hear how they cheered for me? The way they called from their seats for more?”

“Encore,” she whispered.

From the playbill for Spamalot. It could have been grail or patsy or idle. Sadly, page 47 was an ad for American Airlines. The word was "encore."

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