It had been a good day at the flea market, particularly the breadbox radio he’d found. There was something appreciatively old world about spending the dark of winter gently sanding and refinishing things like these, giving them new life.
The radio was going to be work, but he loved them the most of all. He slid the plyboard casing off the back and noticed that taped to the inside was a crusty black and white photo. He guessed by the chrome and fins on the car the man was leaning against, it was somewhere in the mid 1950s. The man in the photo stared into the camera with startling intimacy and affection. He was wearing dirty overalls, perhaps a mechanic? Carefully tapping it free of the tape with a knife, he looked at it up close.
Turning it over, inscribed in perfect red ink cursive was, “I will miss you, Michael – Love, Your John.”