Red Donovan

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Jazz Lover of Brooklyn
Red is red,

And Red Donovan is simply...

Red Donovan.

Italian stone brick pizzeria. Home to powdered aprons, waffs of basil and mozzarella, and Red Donovan’s featherweight life. Red Donovan, gawky and impishly smiling, is a balcony pianist who has lived his whole life in the center of New York City, performing for a corner pizzeria owned by a long-time immigrant Italian couple whom with their tinkling age and aching backs likened the boy’s awkwardly moonish personality and spirit. Pigeon-talker on days where Central Park benches are empty, and stroller for midnight jazz clubs, you would think he’d be a smooth talker. But, Red Donovan, more than often, breaks into stutters and humble rambling making him easy to befriend, if you don’t mind hearing thoughts outloud, unprocessed and odd.

Here’s to the painters of color,

That opened the eyes,

Of a grey-suited business woman.

Sarah Donovan chose the name Red at mystery, six months into her pregnancy. She would be a single mother, who’d have to sacrifice much for her son. On the third day of April 2003, Red Donovan came into this world.

Sarah had no woes nor regrets, for parenthood lended her the happiness that she had only distantly remembered. Red Donovan’s golden heart filled hers that had gone miserable in her life of business and work. The family of two passed their life in New York City as happily as you can imagine. Fair to say, Red Donovan never envied for a better life. He never needed to.

Oregon came out of a hat when his mother got a call that her work wanted to move her down to the branch over there. Red Donovan would be the first to protest, but that would make him a terrible son. Instead, he agreed and with packed bags, they arrived.