In the summer of 1999, when I was eleven, I bought a cd player at the local hi fi shop. It cost most of the fifty dollars I had earned trimming neighbors’ gardens that summer at seventy five cents an hour. I spent many long and fruitful afternoons in my room, listening to CD’s: Blink 182, Def Leppard, Shania Twain, Keith Urban. I didn’t listen particularly loud, at least not in comparison to my college days when I actually set my speakers on fire by blasting up the volume too high, but the noise was apparently too much for my parents.
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