The Promised Land

Forward my mail, y'all, it's the junkman rapture

Friends, you have followed me on this junkman journey through lean times and grand, laughing and crying at my side as I have attempted to justify my existence in a capitalist society by shuffling supposedly-obsolete bits of music-infused plastic from place to place. It is as much for you as myself that I am pleased to report that this week, yea and verily, I laid eyes upon the promised land.

To the unsuspecting, it’s a repurposed mixed-use retail development in one of the faceless outer ring suburbs of Detroit, nestled off the side of a highway behind the obligatory scrap heap of Speedway stations and fast-casual dining franchises. In a previous life, it may have been a gym, or possibly a place that rustproofed vehicles, before all the white-flight neighbors moved back downtown or out to a further exurban ring.

Now, though, it is compact disc Narnia, and my eyes have seen the glory.