Hey buddy, wanna buy some speakers?

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.

By Danny

My name is Danny, and I grew up living overseas, but have settled in Kansas, where it turns out some of my family started, back when. I am helping to raise my own family, and hoping to be proud of what I've done when it's all over.