Rosa's guitar had a crack down the body and only five strings.
"You should get a new one," said her friend.
"This one is fine," said Rosa.
"But it doesn't sound right," said her friend.
"It sounds like mine," said Rosa.
She played it every day — in the garden, on the steps, in her room. The sound was a little rough, a little buzzy. But it was warm and full of personality.
One afternoon, an old man stopped to listen on the street.
"Beautiful," he said.
"It's broken," Rosa told him.
He shook his head. "Broken things have more character," he said. "They've been places."
He walked on.
Rosa looked at her guitar — the crack, the missing string, the worn patches on the neck.
She thought about all the songs that had gone through it.
Then she started to play.