Take Me Home

That last pup in the litter tugs hardest at the heart. One by one, they’ve all been snapped up by pudgy kids and indulgent parents until only the forgotten runt remains. That’s when the world calls out for a pure soul, the kind of person who will, for instance, walk into a denuded Sahara Hotel suite at the big liquidation sale, amble across the soiled carpet, momentarily admire the view of the Fontainebleau (that angel that never came down from heaven) and say to the ratty old upended couch, You’re the one for me! This is love. This is Vegas.

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Lost in Translation

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Lost in Translation

By Michelle Alejandra

More than a year ago, Manuel Ruiz went to a notario to file immigration papers to bring his parents to the United States. He paid $800 and waited for word on what he should do next. Unfortunately, that word never came. Finally, Ruiz’s wife looked into the process, only to find there were no records of his paperwork at the immigration offices. With this discovery, he went back to the office to speak with the notario who had filed his paperwork. “After all,” he says, “she was an attorney, and I knew she would correct it.” But she wasn’t. And she wouldn’t.