Who even knew record stores still existed? My parents have vinyl LPs on the bottom shelf of their entertainment wall. When I was a kid, Mom used to play Mirage by Fleetwood Mac when she cleaned house; said it made her clean faster. I can recognize the virginal warble of a Stevie Nicks song at a hundred yards.
But here I was, standing outside Re-Vinyl on A1A in Jacksonville Beach. A display of ’70s and ’80s funk albums were scattered in with some plastic cherries. The Ohio Players Honey album, the lean model dripping honey into her mouth; Wild Cherry with their one big hit. Faded posters of Kiss and Green Day and Shania Twain blocked most of the window glass but I could still see inside.
Enough to see him.
Enough to get nervous.
He glanced over and I knelt down and pretended to tie my s
