I Paid My Father $250 in Rent Every Month for Five Years. After His Funeral, His Best Friend Gave Me a Key and a Box.

“I’m trying.”

“I can see that.”

That night I sat by the window with a guitar and played a song I had written entirely for fun.

It had nothing to do with rent, loss, or fathers.

It was about a stranger missing the last bus home and discovering a late-night diner full of odd people.

I found myself smiling as I played it.