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She took the record to the corner music store. The space was cramped with boxes of LPs stacked waist high lining the narrow aisles. She had pulled a King Oliver album and was reading the track list when the man behind the counter asked if he could help. In seconds, he was lowering the needle onto the first groove of her record. Then, as if he had walked through the door, the store filled with the scratchy recorded voice of her grandfather.

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