Maya, who tapped her fingers on the Formica tabletop to a rhythm only she could hear. Maya, who burned CDs for everyone and labeled them with Sharpies in messy, loopy handwriting. She was the audiophile; Elias just borrowed whatever she liked.
"Why?" Elias asked, opening his battered Dell. "It’s just for warranty stuff." ipod serial number
"Hey, Elias. I saw this pop up on a resale site. I recognized the scratch on the back, but I checked the serial just to be sure. It was yours. I don't know if you'll ever hear this, but... I fixed the hard drive. I loaded some stuff I thought you'd like. It’s funny, right? We drift apart, we change, but the numbers don't change. 8L and 9M. They’re back together now, sitting in a drawer in my shop. I’m keeping them safe. Just in case you ever come looking for the music we used to make." Maya, who tapped her fingers on the Formica