Now Playing: Blank Curtain - Cola

The decades of rust build-up in the hinges of the swinging glass doors make a nostalgic, albeit shrill noise. As I step in, the checkered linoleum floor grabs onto the soles of my shoes with ancient stains of diet coke and cheap beer, slightly sticking to them as a result. The draft coming in through the open door kicks up an army of dust bunnies, and as I take off my respirator, the delicate scent of sweat, skin oils, and decomposing paper that so many associate with antiquity envelops me completely.

I feel right at home.

I switch a few buttons on the circuit breaker, and the abandoned record store begins to resuscitate. The harsh-emitting fluorescent bulbs switch on in sequence, and I can hear the sputtering air conditioning unit desperately heave the built-up dust and sand out of the space. The various plugged in amplifiers all simultaneously click on, and the poorly-secured neon sign reading ‘Muzant’ flickers on in a soft cherry hue. How this store happens to have flowing electricity continues to perplex me. But it’s a mystery I’m happy to disregard; the treasure trove of all the physical music you could want once again opens itself up to me.

So, where to begin? My general routine starts out by categorically going through the metal drawers where back-up vinyl stock is stored, mainly because it only took me 2 years to go through everything on display, prioritizing those grouped by genre as opposed to famous artists, after which I move on to the musty crates of unsorted records sitting by the termite-infested shelf where one could find classical music and opera, and only after securing at minimum five vinyl released across various decades – I’m very particular about making sure the music is all unique in some regard – do I move on to the plethora of second-hand cassette rips, pick one out at random – which I do in order to hear snippets of old radio shows and popular songs from that time – and pop it into the shop’s tape deck to play while I go explore the maze-like storage, filled with unopened boxes of analog music. Today’s haul is six vinyl, including a few foreign punk rock records I’ve never heard of before. And I haven’t even started looking through the warehouse in the back!

I shuffle off to the backdoor, haphazardly slotting in a cassette I grabbed from next to the cash register. The tape is labeled ‘Muzant Interview’. I hit play, and retreat into the back.

-lcome back to the 8 o’clock news, this *crackle* with BBC news, here to bring you fresh information in these turbulent times.

Strikes continue to intensify in response to the colloquially dubbed ‘1% island’ – the far-removed landmass on which the world’s economic, political, and scientific top brass have congregated in the name of rigorous research and relief organization. However, as space debris-related fatalities continue to mount alongside increased damage to public infrastructure, many have labeled this effort a ‘perfect bunker with a billion dollar buy-in’. It has been *buzz* the first victim of meteorite showers was documented, and yet here we are in the present, with nothing to show for it.

Just this week in fact, the owner of local record store ‘Muzant’ nearly became another statistic at the hands of these comets. Let’s hear about it straight from the source; we *kshhht* -air today. Richard, if you could please tell us, what was the experience like?

“Well sir I gotta tell ya, I think what happened yesterday was a bonafide example of the kind of curtain these two-faced politicians have draped over the eyes of us hardworkin’ folk. Frankly, *crackle* -showers have done for mine business had been good – ever since the local cell towers got hit with space rock, I have young and old alike coming in, asking for cassette this, vinyl that; it’s splendid. We’re all seein’ what’s happening around the world, but as long as it’s them and not us, the world keeps turnin’. Nobody ever thinks it’s gonna happen to them. Well last night, a burning hunk of metal nearly happened to me! I was told this place’d be safe! That my life can just carry on! And where are these damnable policymakers that claim to know everything about these meteors?! Off-shore, under 50 feet of tempered steel, kicking up their feet on a job well done! It’s deplorable. Thank God there are some good eggs holding them accountable on TV; we need more people like Fi-”

*click*

Ugh. I was hoping there’d be an intermission with at least one song to rip for myself, but fast-forwarding the tape, it’s all just more monologuing courtesy of the same guy. The interviewee’s high-pitched voice keeps dragging on as if to spite me, and while I wait for the cassette to either finish or play a new track, I look out the dust-encrusted window, squinting through the sand and grime. And on the horizon, just underneath where the sun is, I see two tiny specs of starlight glimmer. I get a bad premonition; it’s as though a pair of eyes are staring me down – sizing me up not unlike a predator.

“Shit.”

My body becomes animated by a fight or flight response. The ligaments in my knees all pull on my muscles. I dive straight underneath the sorting desk. I can hear the window break. The metal shelves rattle. A fire starts. Smoke bellows.