Speaking of keeping it real:"I just hate starting the day like this," JA sighed. He'd been stuck in the Madison Avenue traffic. Buses, taxis, and eighteen-wheelers coughed and moaned, sending their fumes into a bright, blue sky. I watched and waited as red turned to green turned to red. On my hand truck, I balanced the tall Silverline speakers, the squat PSBs, and the weighty Zanden amplifier. The air was cool. Our office building is shaded not by green trees, but by gray scaffolding. Construction workers filed in and out, rolling large spools of black cable into the building's narrow freight entrance, like ants (of course!) transporting food into a dark hole. JA would arrive with the PrimaLuna ProLogues, and we would make a trade: my boxes into his trunk and his boxes into our office. Finally, we'd meet again upstairs. "I just hate starting the day like this," JA sighed.
"It gets better from here," I returned his sigh with one of my own. I walked into my office and fell into my seat, already exhausted, at only 10 past 10. I hadn't even had my coffee yet. Porter, our mailroom attendant, came in with a package.
Mr. Stephen MejiasI wondered what it could be. Some sort of iPod accessory? A few new CDs? A very small amplifier? I hadn't requested anything. I was excited. I opened the box.
Calendar & Events Editor
STERO PHILE
