BOY IN A BOX

Boombox collectors (for yes, there is such a thing) call this their Holy Grail:




Well, slap my ass and call me Jesus— that’s my teenage box!

I went to the Walt Whitman Mall with Nancy one day, and bought it for $200 at Crazy Eddie’s across Route 110. Didn’t have a dime left after that purchase, so we had to scrounge around for change to make two fares on the N-79 bus. We begged from strangers, and dipped into the fountain in front of Macy’s for nickels.

I can still feel the tiny yet perceptible clicks as you pushed the volume slider up:

No future (click) No future (click) No future for youuuuu…