I stopped by Atomic today, its last day, twice. I stopped on my way to work because I wanted to one more time feel some of the anticipation that I used have, waiting for that door to open. It was quiet and peaceful, at rest. Not open for 4 hours.
I then returned after work, already knowing that the records that I had held out on were already in the clutches of someone a little less in need of a bargain than I. I wanted to look through the stacks just once more, hoping to find something rare, something I would treasure. I wanted to breathe it in one last time, see that group of people that made shopping for music an experience.
I had my camera along so I snapped the above pictures and a few more of the outside and in, the posters and walls, the crazed and quick fingered seekers. And I thought as I left that I would like to take a picture with Rich the owner, Mark the clerk that “is” Atomic to me, but I realized that I don’t need pictures to memorialize this. All of the sensory remembrances of Atomic Records are stored in my head. Those will last longer.
Sad day for our neighborhood(s), but memories–and the many albums and posters and t shirts over the years–will last a lifetime. You probably could have worn a clean pair of jeans, though; it’s almost like going to a funeral.
Agreed. It kind of was like a funeral. But I’m a dirtball.