I found it sandwiched between a Barbara Streisand comp and a broken 8-track. The sleeve was worn, the vinyl itself a little hazy, but intact. No price. I brought it to the counter.
“Forty,” he said.
The crate was buried at the back of the shop, under a avalanche of scratched Herb Alpert records and mildewed songbooks. Vinyl Victim, my local haunt, was the kind of place where dust motes danced in the single bare bulb, and the owner, a man named Jerry who smelled of coffee grounds and regret, priced everything by “vibe.” Phoebe Snow - Phoebe Snow 1974 EAC FLAC
Weeks later, a USB drive arrived in Jerry’s mail. No note. Just a single folder labeled: Phoebe_Snow_-_Phoebe_Snow_1974_EAC_FLAC . I found it sandwiched between a Barbara Streisand
“For a VG copy?”