Records

I was at a party on Saturday. They had a turntable and some vinyls. Some friends and I sat in the front room playing records for hours. I miss records. They're at home in Seattle. I miss my turn table. I miss the sound of a needle on the record and that I miss that grainy, echoey, sound before the song. It's an anticipatory sound. I remember that sound prefacing many dance routines, lip synchs, and my childhood foray into rhythmic gymnastics with a jump rope. If I had 2 weeks off, I'd drive to Seattle, get my records and drive back. That is all.