CD found and played

Woke up around eleven this morning, and since I was alone at home (I mean free) I turned on the computer and looked for a CD to play. Strangely enough, I found this CD José sent me once to London: Dímelo en la calle, by Joaquinsito Sabina (who has nothing to do with Jojo, thanks God)
I remember receiving it with joy and warmness on a cold Saturday morning in London, a day I also woke up kind of alone. I remember opening the door of my room, and seeing the package there: my flatmates used to leave the letters and packages we received in front of each one's room door (sometimes I really miss my flatmates... I hate having lost contact with them) I could tell the package was José's: there's no way you can't tell his writing even from the address in the envelope: an innate elegance and style in writing and drawing, those gifts some people have and use and have and use and have and use so easily. And I found Joaquinsito Sabina's CD inside the package, and of course played it immediately, but it wouldn't play. Shit, I thought, it was broken on the trip from Granada to London.
This morning, I was saying, I found the same CD again on a lonely (but so necessary) Saturday morning. And I played it, and it worked. I am listening to it now. I suppose objects have their own lives.