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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