Drive your recently dead dad's Mustang over wide and empty Texas streets with the indulgent recklessness afforded the grieving. Play Bruce's second album, released in 1973, The Wild, the Innocent & the E Street Shuffle, as you do so. The closing track is "New York City Serenade." This is crucial. You'll begin to think of the "he" in the chorus as him, and the strings and horns only heighten the feeling. Wait around. Know your mom will be too emotionally spent and resigned to sue the hospital. Ignore the crumpled note in your suit's inner pocket, containing the eulogy you wrote that you'll be too afraid to read aloud in front of the funeral attendees. That night, become a trope of male sadness. Drink heavily with your best friends. Stumble, black out. Wake up sicker than you've ever felt. Spend the day too hungover to feel much of anything else. Listen to Nebraska because that's what you do when you're miserable and reeling from alcohol poisoning.