Walking into the grocery store today, holding Aidan in one arm, I was intercepted by a pickup truck with some youths inside. The driver leaned out and said, “Hey buddy, you want some speakers?”
My response was, “Been there, done that. Thanks anyway.”
It has to have been ten or eleven years ago now, living in New York City, when I did, in fact, buy some speakers off the back of a truck. I was young, foolish, and pretty broke. Oh, and I didn’t have a stereo system. And yet, the guy was persuasive. He’d ordered some speakers for a nightclub he was setting up, and they’d sent him twice as many. He couldn’t use them all, and they wouldn’t take them back (at this point I should have started getting curious), and he’d sell me a pair cheap.
I don’t remember what I paid, but they were cheap, big black things covered in that low-rent pilled fabric that nightclubby speakers are covered in. Serviceable, they would have been better in a college dorm room where volume is more important than timbre.
I endured a little ribbing about those, but they lasted a long time, and served me well. When Tiffany and I moved in together, we splurged and bought some really nice speakers (Mirage bipolars) and these were consigned to… well now I can’t remember what happened to them.
Anyway, how often can I expect to be approached in the street to buy hot speakers? I’m not sure which is more suspicious, in the parking lot of a grocery store in Nebraska, or outside my apartment on the East Side of Manhattan.
Life is strange.