Real "Closet Classic"

Miracles always happen suddenly.

Working in a music store, I've witnessed instruments spark miracles more than once.
It's a common story for shop staff: an instrument that sat unsold forever gets picked up by a musician, and the very next day, it's sold.

Well, the miracle I'm about to share began with an email one morning.
"I own a certain guitar and amp, and I'm looking for a music store to buy them."
It was an email from the US.

From experience, responding to suspicious sales emails from overseas often leads to getting scammed—paying money but never receiving the goods. However, this time I somehow felt compelled to hear the details.

The email came from a man living in Texas, USA. He said he had been asked by an acquaintance to sell this instrument and wanted me to come see it.

Despite not knowing if this was a trustworthy deal, I replied, "I'm on my way, show me the item."

America, for crying out loud! It was beyond sane, but the wording and content were strangely compelling. Damn it, my usual impulsive habit kicked in again...

Plus, the buyer demanded cash payment.

Hey, hey, carrying that much cash? If I just opened the door saying "Hello!", I'd probably get surrounded by burly musclemen from both sides, stripped naked, tossed onto the roadside, or get a pistol bang! That could totally happen.

Especially in a slightly sketchy area of Texas...

After much deliberation, I decided to head to America immediately, clutching cash in both hands as I set off for the destination.

I rented a car at the airport and pondered various things on the drive to the site. "Hey, I'm a karate master!" Maybe I should say that first... or something like that.

About an hour after leaving the airport, I entered a quiet residential area where houses were spaced far apart, with thickets of shrubs separating the road from the homes. I parked in front of a house with a blue roof that looked like it had been there for ages, radiating a sense of lived-in warmth.

I'd actually come this far... Feeling both excitement and dread, I pressed the doorbell. After a moment, the door opened, and a burly... no, just an ordinary-looking man invited me inside. "Good... looks like I won't die here."

It seemed he lived alone. Honestly, that was a huge relief. The fact it wasn't some unfunny twist and that he was a real person gave me the greatest sense of relief.

When I was led into the living room, there was a shiny guitar, along with its case and amp, that made me wonder if it was a reissue.
"No way," I thought, excitedly examining it. He smiled and said, "I'm really glad you came. Actually, I got a few offers after that, but I asked you because you said you'd come first."

He explained that the client had zero interest in guitars and had consulted him specifically because he played. That's why he'd gone to the house himself.

He nodded, saying he still couldn't forget the thrill of finally reaching it after carefully removing each box of clothes, shoes, and bags piled high in the storage space under the stairs.

There, nestled inside a brown case, lay a 1961 Fender Stratocaster "New" and a "Brownface" Deluxe Amp. Considering it was over 55 years old, I carefully cradled the amp to avoid breaking the handle as I lifted it out.