We have a night where we all get together at our favorite bar. We geek out on records, throw back bourbon and beers, and stumble out to get Pakistani chick peas at twilight. 

I played this record,  one night and Wax Poetic's Mr. Mason came up to me to check if it was an original copy. I handed him the King sleeve and he raised his eyebrows and nodded in approval.

Good record stores know that if they throw in some really good deals, they'll get poor guys like me–who are willing to dig through gold to find reduced-price silver–to come back with a shovel and optimism week after week. For less than the cost of a chicken dinner, I was able to buy Street Cred! Look at me now, mom!! Whoops, just lost it.

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