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chem trails in your easy mac
Took a special trip to the record store today. The only one in town. Walked about five miles round trip, which is not an unusual feat for us, but it's always tiring no matter what.
But I feel like I just want to break down and cry.
Worst. Recordstore. Ever.
I've only been there once, and now twice, and I'd be happy to never go again. It's piles and piles of shit. Just shit.
We traded in some CDs and tapes for one LP. B-52s Wild Planet. Way overpriced, but I think my husband just didn't want to walk out of there emptyhanded.
It doesn't even smell like a record store.
Its smells like disappointment and a glade plug in.
I almost started bawling in their so-called Jazz section.
I found Straight No Chaser (Thelonious Monk) for 99 cents at Savers last time I went there. The thrift stores have a better selection than the actual record store.
Herb Alpert, Louis Armstrong, and Joni Mitchell (for some reason) constituted most of the jazz section.
If this is what I have to deal with. If these are my choices.
Well shit.
Fuck it all.
1:11 PM - Tuesday, Dec. 19, 2017
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