Finding the Groove

Night had dropped, and this quiet corner needed some real atmosphere. I took an unhurried stroll across the wooden credenza, my platform boots tapping a steady count until I reached the vintage turntable. Down in the corner of the shelf leaned an old, dusty cardboard record sleeve. I stood tall, braced my shoulder against the edge, and eased it forward just an inch to reveal that glossy black vinyl edge. Running two fingers along the grooved rim, I could practically hear the bassline humming through the resin under my feet. Pure classic style.