Flipping the Sleeve

I stepped down the front stairs and strolled two blocks down the avenue to the sidewalk outside a neighborhood record shop. Sitting on a low wooden bench out front was an open milk crate packed with vintage singles. I climbed onto the timber slat and braced one hand against the crate's molded rim. Right at the front sat a seven-inch single in a heavy die-cut cardstock sleeve with faded block lettering. Using both hands, I eased the sleeve forward and nudged the inner paper liner up. The exposed rim of glossy black vinyl caught the morning sun, showing clean, hair-thin sound grooves pressed tight around a crimson center label. Sliding the jacket back upright kept the crate completely dialed.