It was nearing the three o’clock hour when Joanie burst through the doors of the second hand store. Rumor in the antique chats were that this joint was fire when it came to vinyl. If it could be found anywhere in the Design District, this would be the place.

At first, she was easily swayed by shiny baubles from days gone by. A trinket here and a vintage paperback there; The Dreamy Mullet bled the eighties. By that, she thought it smelled like Coors beer, Marlboro 100’s, and Aqua Net hairspray. It was the strongest concoction Joanie had found since her search began for this treasure all those decades ago. It called to her now as strongly as ever.

Reaching out with her extrasensory abilities, the faint echo of the Bard beckoned. From row to row, junk to treasure, her heart fluttered with hopes of finality.

And then, as she’d imagined so often before, her master’s token was within grasp. Carefully, she pulled the ancient record from its sleeve and called for assistance.

“Pardon me, ma’am,” she said in as smoothly of a voice as her parched throat allowed. “By any chance could I have access to a working turntable? I need to check something out. If this is the real deal, it’ll change the world!”

The melancholy attendant motioned behind her at the overly obvious sign. Hung by a single strand of nearly invisible fishing line twirled a flimsy clue: “Public Turntable; U Break, You Buy”.

It wasn’t twirling under its own power like some kind of magic wielding prophecy, but blown by the building’s HVAC system. It was hot enough in the store to where the sign was nearly illegible. Summer was eternal.

“Thanks, love! You have no idea the service you just peformed for your race, kind miss,” Joanie bowed.

Sparks flew from the dragon’s plate as the puny, human crafted needle skreeched the formulaic tune of the apocalypse. Joanie was but a young demon when tasked with finding the lost Lionel Richie recordings. The Dark Lord himself performed backup on a “Dancing On The Cieling” cut that never made the final album. Now, those same notes summoned the beast that would hunt mankind to extinction.

Oh, what a feeling; indeed.