I’d complained about the hours so often that I assumed my last night would be pure relief.

Instead, I felt grateful for what the job had given me when I had no other plan.

Before leaving, I walked down the aisle where I’d once counted my paychecks on a scrap of paper, trying to decide whether there was enough left after Dad’s rent to buy a microphone cable.

That version of me had been more determined than I’d given him credit for.

Denise handed me a card signed by the staff.

Inside, she’d written: Make good noise.