OK, just in. The local Guitar Center moved to a new location a few blocks from where it was. Just today, I went in to take a look around the new store. Perhaps there would be a small treasure on the floor that had been camouflaged from years of neglect at the old location. I felt like I was in a warehouse hardware store. The only reason music was being piped in was to cover up the sound of my own echoes. I walked to every department and was not approached once. I passed an old keyboard player that looked lost, confused, and hungry.
There were many faces that I did not recognize, although, I couldn't be sure if they were employees or if they were customers. Usually the tattoos give away the employees identities. I did get a nod and a semi-quasi smile from one individual, however, I wasn't sure if the guy's grimaced greeting was welcoming me into the store, or if it was a precurser for him trying to pick me up! I sure hope that it was the former. I pressed on in the opposite direction from "Buffalo Bob".
I finally spotted the manager in the corner. A familiar face with whom I have had friendly conversations with in the past. I walked up and asked how he liked his new store, as I was watching my six for "Bob". The short answer, well ok, the only answer I received was an annoyed, "I like it just fine". Then his phone became surgically fused to his ear as his skin began to glow red.
There was only one other time that I felt that truly alone in the world, and that was on my arrival to Death Valley at 9PM on a camping trip, where my buddy forgot to pack the tent. A feeling of empty surrealism overcame me. I believe that it was an omen. The whole scenario was like something out of the Twilight Zone. The new location must be directly over a swirling vortex to hell and the store now has to be under management directly by Satan. I should know, I've lived with his sister for years!
My parting gift was having some little %)$)$* park his POS Civic so close to my driver's door that I had to crawl in from the passenger side. I look back with relief that I didn't possess a baseball bat or a cutting torch with me. I looked to make sure, as I would've beat that Civic unmerciful!
I did manage to make it back from the Netherworld to scribe these words, however, I'm not sure that I would be that lucky on a second attempt. I can only hope that I don't have to go back, as this experience had temporarily drained any notion, that I had, that music was supposed to be fun.