Alfred walked into Middleton’s as per usual on a calm May afternoon for his routine lunch of crab cakes and Diet Coke. Embracing every part of his daily ritual, he walked to the sports bar to chat it up a bit with Mr. Rockford.
“Hey, Mr. Rockford. Anythin’ new?” He took a sip of the Diet Coke presented to him and began watching the news playing on the old TV.
“Actually, yeah.” From behind the counter, Mr. Rockford pulled up a small brown package, no larger than Alfred’s palm. “This came in this mornin’. Addressed t’ y’ from Britain.”
“Britain…?” Inside the package was a folded up letter, written in perfect cursive.
Dear Alfred,
Thank you for the enjoyable trip through Annapolis and for all you did for me. Thanks to you, I was able to make it home safely and just in time for my younger brother’s graduation. I decided to send this to Middleton’s because I knew this would be the one place you would be able to receive it. Inside there is a small token of my appreciation. I hope you enjoy it.
Sincerely,
Arthur Kirkland
Curiosity taking over, he eagerly ripped open the rest of the brown paper and opened the shining case.
Inside the case, a classy wood pick with a signature on it was nestled safely in foam.
“Dude! He gave me a guitar pick signed by Britt Nichole! How th’ heck did he get this?!”
