When the Jazz Man played, Zeke thought about nothing else but the wonderful music that drifted from the bright yellow room scross the courtyard. He did not think about how his mother crept up and down five long flights of stairs every day to go to work. He did not think about the jobs he knew his father must work. He thought about just of the dreamy blues adding color to his drab world. How long will Zeke's dreams last when the Jazz Man leaves?
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