I received some bad news from the doctor last week. Deep in my head and alone in my thoughts, I retreated to the one place in town where I can find the true solace that I longingly crave, my local record store.
In Oklahoma City, it’s usually Guestroom Records at 3701 N. Western. In dire need of heathenistic hymns of modern love and lusts for life, heartbreak hotels and sheer heart attacks, it always seems to be my home away from home. Spending an hour or so in there last week, the twee tunes spinning overhead might have normally bothered me, but that day it was certainly a nice bit of balm to comfort me as I perused their new arrivals, first the compact discs and then the records over by the counter.