Record Store Saturday

“Saturday afternoon in the record store. The bins are alphabetical but the real system is vibes. You flip through the used section — that particular rhythm, the flick of cardboard, scanning spines like speed reading. Something catches your eye. An album you've never heard of with cover art that demands attention. The clerk sees you holding it and nods, just slightly, and you know it's good. He puts it on the store turntable. The crackle. Then the first notes. The store stops. Three strangers listen together without acknowledging it. You buy it. Twelve dollars for something that will change your week, maybe your year. The paper bag is still the best packaging ever invented.”