Their Song

The guitar showed up on his porch, strings slack, fretboard scarred–much like him. No note, just a cigarette burn by the bridge: her signature. He lit one, tuned it by ear, and played the song they’d buried between fights. The wind howled the chorus. Forgiveness, maybe? Or a dare?

⚠️ Satire rules here. If you are looking for facts, bring your own. If you are looking for spiritual, economic, or moral counseling, try prayer. Just do not bring any lawyers around this entertainment-only venue.