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In my exploration of the urban ghost town earlier this week, I stumbled upon this broken old record. It strikes me that there are few symbols in life sadder than this. At one point someone wanted this record enough to exchange money for it, probably pulled it from its crisp white sleeve and carefully blew dust from its surface. Now it sits here abandoned and forgotten, its desecration so complete that the label no longer reads anything at all. The tomb of the unknown LP.

I can't help but wonder if many years from now the image of a broken CD will evoke such a strange mixture of emotions. Somehow I doubt it.

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Left Behind
March 2005