Before I forget. Because I know I'm going to.
There are little unadulterated pleasures in life. All of us should have at least one thing that gives us joy, making our brief existence here somewhat bearable.
If for some reason you don't possess even that one thing that makes you happy, I suggest you find it quick. And when you do, keep it close to you and celebrate it often.
Because it can't be candyfloss and blowjobs every day.
I'm sharing my little bit of joy.
I have my record-buying bag in tow. Right now, it looks like a purse. Up a few blocks from home is one of my favourite record shops, with a name that speaks to my soul. I'm quite a thrifty bastard, even in the best of times, and the Cheapies moniker pulls me toward it like a fucking magnet.
I go in, and acknowledge the rude record store clerks I barely recognize. I head to the back, where the cheap vinyl are, to spend at least a few hours in my own solitude. I take my time, sifting through the mould, the old, and the unheard of. People that wander by are invisible to me. I'm focused. I pick piles out and separate them in my head.
Gotta Have. Definitely Maybe. Distant Maybe (depending on the budget).
I really don't care about nicks and scratches. Sometimes it's just good to have something physically to take home, and maybe hear that one track that's been in your head for years, finally being enlightened all over again. Who cares if it sounds like dog shit? It's all in how you remember it.
I walk out, heading home. My record-buying bag is full. It hardly looks like a purse anymore.
67 King Street East. HamilTONE!
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