said object

Duke University, 1952. Bought the radio for the beach trip, it felt good in my hands as I carried it over to Eleanor. She strode by me, a thin wisp of taffeta spilling over her hips, her crepe suit crisp underneath. We were eager to listen to the “Too Old To Cut The Mustard” by Clooney. We got to the beach, turned it on and she started singing and I could of wept because the sound was just plain terrible, my ears felt sliced opened. All her prettiness drained from her face like a melted Creamsicle which had lost it’s orange luster. So we drove home and I tucked the radio away.