Many moons ago I did a stint at a computer shop building personal computers to customer specifications. Not to show my age but one of the jobs I had to do was to configure the jumpers so that the seven-segment display worked correctly when the turbo button was employed.
Anyway, during this particular period of employment one of the boring jobs that I was tasked with was to take all the cardboard and packaging out to the trash bins down the alley. This alley was shared with one another building, one that was a burned-out shell of a house. It was long abandoned and each day that I had to take the trash out, passing this building, I would wonder what was inside. This was long before urban exploring was a thing or excuse for trespassing.
One day I decided to venture inside. Everything was charred and the upstairs was pretty much gone. But the staircase was intact. On one of the staircase spindles was a note, taped. In neat penmanship was written “Don’t forget the milk”. The building has been uninhabitable for many years and I don’t know what became of its occupants but I often think back to the time I found that note wondering if whomever the note was addressed to remembered the milk.