Patrick Jenson
It’s weird what details the mind holds on to. It was an overcast Tuesday when the box arrived on my door step. I remember my dog was freaking out at the door, which was odd because at her age she hardly even barked much anymore. I opened the door to see what she was going on about and there on my doorstep sat a little brown box. No postage or return address, just a beautifully written card with my name on it. After worrying for about an hour if it could possibly be a bomb, my curiosity got the better of me and I opened it. Inside was a note and another box. The note’s message has been seared into my brain.
