Light In The Attic Record Shop

There is an old house in Detroit or Nashville or New Orleans, and it has one of those old cellars filled with the miscellany accrued over a lifetime. In that musty space is a battered old box next to the water heater, and that box, well, it's showing the detritus of time, and lord knows how long it's been sitting there. Some mysterious feeling draws you to it, and you open it, see some tapes, those old reel-to-reels. You dig further and find the player, shake the dust loose, cue up one of the reels. The anticipation has your heart racing. You hear the hiss. One beat...two...three...