Groove Runner

Slipped back inside through the patio door before the night chill caught up with me. The living room was quiet, except for a low hum coming from the audio console. Right on top, an old turntable was in motion, spinning a glossy black vinyl record at a steady thirty-three RPM. A rotating disc with concentric tracks? That's an open invite. I scrambled up the amplifier casing, leaped onto the outer rim, and hit a brisk trot against the spin. The micro-grooves buzzed right through my soles like an endless loop track. After three solid laps around the revolving disc, I vaulted off and stuck a clean landing on the brushed-metal tonearm base.