microphones raze this is the last thing you ever expected to sell. and it's the only bite you've had all month. a man named mark shows up an hour after you've eaten. hair not quite fully grey but too far gone to tell you what colour it used to be. rimless round frames with dark lenses hide his eyes until he steps inside. he knows all about this microphone. how it's the last iteration that was made with an output transformer. how it has dual gold sputtered diaphragms, a built-in bass cut, and four switchable polar patterns. how a tool you never learned to love just might be perfect for voiceover work. his vocal booth is a walk-in closet still filled with his wife's clothes. he has a lute, a guitar with eight nylon strings, and a banjolele, all in various states of disrepair. a post-retirement project. he says he records all kinds of different things. he doesn't explain what they are. he's older than you but younger in all the ways that matter. you smile and think about how you were once like him, before this_city took all your songs away. 250815 what's it to you? who go blather from