It was just yesterday that Kirk looked across the street and said, “Remember when we used to go to Tower Records?” I stared at the garish ketchup-and-mustard sign and nodded. “When was the last time we were there?” He paused, paging through years of his mental calendar. Finally, he settled on a date, “A long time ago.”
We’ve been to places like Amoeba more recently, of course, but even that journey was a long time ago. Poo-Bah’s, an independent record store in our region, moved to a new location — we hadn’t been to the old one in a long time and unless Kirk is keeping secrets, haven’t visited the new one.