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You loved music more than anyone I know. You're always there bobbing your head to each beat, doing a little dance here and there, or sitting over there with your big head phones on and swaying back and forth. I could see it, your dissecting the song — listening in closely for each beat , for each musical instrument — you know, whatever you musicians do. But I get it.

Every road trip without fail came The Pit Stop at some guitar store. Heck, dad, I keep telling you why don't you just own your own store? Five hours go by as I sit watching you fiddle with a guitar here and there...yet you never end up buying one. I understand though; it was your fun place, like an arcade; playing all you can, and as loud as you can. Your candy shop.