It is hard to say goodbye when it is raining. On a Tuesday. When everything is slow. It is hard to say goodbye when spring is arriving. When it is May. When crews are tearing up the city. It is hard to say goodbye when you are not here. When you cannot hear me. When there is no one to say goodbye to. It is hard to say goodbye to you when I never planned it. When it never seemed possible. When there is still so much left to say.
In which a long-time record collector and sometimes poet shares shares vinyl finds, words of worth, and plays keep or cull.
