On my bookshelf I have a stack of CDs I don’t want. Most I picked up on a whim or a magazine recommendation, often at a used CD shop, then discovered they weren’t my cup of tea. Others were gifts.
Some are a complete mystery to me — they found their way into my possession and now won’t leave… I can’t get anybody to buy them back and I can’t bring myself to throw a working CD in the garbage. So they sit in a pile, untouched for months or years, cheap plastic reminders that things are never as orderly as I want them to be.
Meet Me In Montauk 