Ghost

Thirteen nights at the Garden. No repeats. I had a spreadsheet, two roommates who stopped speaking to me, and a manager who thought my grandmother died twice.

The venue let tapers in but my stand had been confiscated in Winston-Salem two nights earlier for reasons that were, in fairness, entirely my fault.

She played standards in hotel bars for twenty years. When I put on a 1998 Ghost she listened to eleven minutes with her eyes closed and then said, "Oh — they're comping for each other."