There is a specific kind of magic in tearing off that clear cellophane. It’s the smell of fresh PVC and the anticipation of what’s about to happen when the needle drops. I leveled the Fluance, checked the tracking force on my Audio-Technica —the one with the iconic green tip—and let it fly.

A man in his late 40s walked in and asked for the owner. He didn't look like a collector; he looked like a man on a mission to clear out his trunk. He had a box of his mom’s records, and she’d told him to get rid of them.

Maybe the 'best days' aren't stuck in 1969 or 1984. Maybe they’re right here, in the Groove Den, where the past and the present sound the same.

And here I am, 36 years after seeing that on-air light glow for the first time — still getting the same buzz from cueing up a record.