I woke up this morning thinking about Dad. I miss all those moments we spent listening to records.
The inner sleeve is on the couch. I sit and read the jacket. Dad cleans the record surface and stylus while the pre-amp and tube amp warm up. The polished vinyl gently drops onto the platter. The turntable spins. The tonearm and phono cartridge gracefully move into place. No words were spoken. It was time to listen.
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