My confession: I stole your package

A few months after I moved into my apartment, a big package arrived at my door addressed to a Mr. Anthony Grimes. Grimes was the previous tenant who occupied my apartment, and every now and then, credit card offers or a wedding invitation addressed to Grimes would pop up inside my mailbox. Writing "return to sender" became a ritual for me, so I marked the package and put it out for the mailman.

The next week, the package came back. It was in pretty bad shape after being man-handled by the post office so many times. "Sender no longer exists" was written in big, black letters on the brown paper packaging. I asked my landlord if he knew how to reach Grimes, but all he knew was that Grimes had moved somewhere out West. I did a Google search and came up empty-handed. The package stayed near my coatrack for a few more months — until I decided to go ahead and open it.

Inside was an amazing keyboard for music recording. Every time I tried playing it, I felt a little guilty because, well, I'd kind of stolen it. I think I might sell it and donate the money to a children's music education charity. Or maybe I'll just get over myself and keep the awesome thing.