He wrote to the man at the corner bakery who always saved the crustiest bread for him without being asked.
He wrote to Mrs. Kovács in 4B. For years, she had watered the hallway plants. He thanked her for making the building feel like a home, even when he was too busy to notice.
Laci sat at his wooden desk, the morning light hitting a stack of unopened mail. Tomorrow, he was moving to a new city, leaving behind the neighborhood where he’d spent thirty years. He had a mental checklist: "Pack the kitchen," "Return the keys," "Call the movers." But one item weighed heavier than the rest: "Before I go, I need to say thank you."