Location: Above the Shop, Northern Florida
Morning Status: 39°F, Hazy, and a very reluctant Poodle.
5:53 AM The floorboards in my living quarters were like ice underfoot this morning. Outside, the Florida haze has turned the pine trees into ghosts. I had to bribe Hughey out of his blankets with a bit of dried liver; at thirteen, he’s decided that sub-40-degree weather is a personal insult to his apricot dignity.
We made the trek down the back stairs into the shop. Even though the “Closed” sign stays permanently flipped for now, the shop feels like it’s waiting for a crowd. I like it best at this hour—the smell of old paper is crisper in the cold. I spent the first hour just checking the pipes and watching the haze drift past the front glass.
9:53 AM | 49°F | Broken Clouds The light finally broke through, hitting the shelves in jagged patches. I’ve spent the mid-morning elbow-deep in a crate of donated CDs that arrived late last week. It’s always a gamble, but today the “Uncommon” lived up to its name.
I pulled out two Ben Glover albums—Before the Birds and Through the Noise, Through the Night. There is something about Glover’s voice that feels like it was grown in the same soil as this shop: gritty, soulful, and deeply rooted. Following right behind them was Molly Tuttle’s Crooked Tree. Her flatpicking is so sharp it could cut through this morning’s fog. I have them playing on the shop system now; the acoustic strings are bouncing off the high ceilings, making the place feel alive.
2:53 PM | 61°F | Wind: 18 mph The day has warmed up significantly, but the wind is picking up, rattling the front door in its frame. Hughey is currently tracking the shadows of the “broken clouds” as they race across the rug.
I’ve decided these three albums belong together. I’ll be cataloging them and placing them in the Digital Ledger (eBay/Mercari) later this week. They are perfect for anyone who wants to hear the sound of a long road home. If you’ve been looking for music that feels like a conversation in a quiet room, keep a weather eye on the shop links.
5:53 PM | 57°F | Partly Sunny The sun is dipping, casting long, orange shadows over the “Uncommon” sign. It’s time to close up the ledger and head back upstairs. Hughey is already standing by the back door, his three legs balanced perfectly, looking up as if to remind me that dinner is served at six, and not a minute later.
The shop is settled. The wind is still humming outside, but inside, among the books and the newly found melodies, it is perfectly still.
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