Frank bought a guitar from the pawn shop on the corner.
Its case had stickers from around the world on it.
People would ask him about those places, and he’d make up stories about the restaurants, the streets, the people, the bars, and the gigs.
He’d play gigs and fill the room.
Never made it big, but still, he made a decent living from it with session work and teaching.
When he died, the guitar made it back to the pawn shop.
And another kid ended up buying it.
But, no bullshit stories. He got a new case for it.