Oil up for the bonus round

For my lunch break I strolled to the House of Records. I was on a mission. Most of my trips to the House of Records begin as missions, turn into digressions, and then conclude. Abruptly. As suddenly as their inceptive notion. Whim even. I was looking for one thing, which was not there, found another, which I pulled from rack. While waiting at the counter to pay, and to order the thing for which my quest had begun, another customer approached me and asked "Do you have anything by [the name of the artist did not register in my memory]." I politely told him that I did not work there. 13th Floor Elevators. (I just remembered.) That's the name of the band he sought. Was it my Conflict concert shirt, black with "The Ungovernable Force" on the front and "A History of Insurgency" on the back? Maybe apathy, nihilism and ennui seeped from me in just the right way. I haven't shaved in a few days. I should feel good about myself that someone might look at me and think I work in a record store. That I look cool enough. That I am not seen as just another slack-jawed bipedal dirt clod. And I do Dear Reader. I do. I purchased Devo/Q:Are We Not Men? A:We Are Devo! Because it needed to be done. I ordered the album Kurr by Amiina. Because Yoko said so. And you Dear Reader get a second post today, at no additional cost.