A Clean Groove

I set my finished leather strap down on the coffee table and stepped onto the hardwood floor, ready for something with rhythm. Over by the bottom shelf of the stereo cabinet, an upright row of vintage 45 rpm records stood tucked in a wire rack. I rested one hand against the wooden pillar and flicked through the cardboard sleeves until a thick, textured paper cover caught my eye. Prying it forward with both hands, I eased the seven-inch disc free. The center had a large open spindle hole. I rolled the disc upright across the grain of the floorboards, letting the spiraled vinyl catch the morning light.