ode to the black shards of analog…

found on 15th street between market and castro, four broken records, artfully arranged.

did human hands place the vinyl this way? or did they fall so cleverly on their own? who broke the records? and why? was it part of a lover’s quarrel? did the angry partner, in a fit of rage, thrust his hubby’s prized possessions down down to the unforgiving walkway beneath their bedroom window? were his hands shaking as he slid his beloved’s classic chic album “dance, dance, dance, yowsah, yowsah, yowsah” from its colorful sleeve? did he pause to consider the grim consequences of his terrible act before heaving “yowsah” full force to its ultimate demise? could his lover ever forgive him? was this the beginning of the end?