I dropped the needle and it skidded
from the record’s rim with a squeal.
I touched the tone arm, heedless of the boom
of feedback my finger produced.
There were a few more scratches as
the needle bucked in its narrow track,
but then Rocky Dijon came in
on the congas. I put on my shades
and cranked the volume over.
The light bulb in the ceiling’s center
was my mike. I shouted, alive:
"Please allow me to introduce myself..."
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