The fire still burns within me...
We went to a Ukrainian church rummage sale this past weekend. I should have my collector's card revoked. After dicking around at the housewares table with the baby monitors, I saw a portly 30-something walk past with a vinyl copy of NEU! 1 _ priced at 1 dollar.
He wore the poker face of the pro record shopper _ tinged mechanically with smugness. Our eyes met. I knew I could grab the NEU! and bolt for the door, past the patriarch's portrait and out onto Rice Street. But then I saw his young son. It would be a bad scene.
So I waited in the alley outside. I never saw him pass, but Erika found me 15 minutes later _ a thin film of sweat covering my face.
"Are you all right?" she asked.
"Oh... just getting some fresh air."
We walked home, and for a few moments more I felt the fire. I don't think it'll ever go out. Not until the last Ukrainian hippie has donated his record collection.