This was my third trip to Michael’s house on the cul de sac in Sylmar, and it was hotter this time than the previous two. Way hotter. The kind of heat that fries your nostrils as you breathe in. I’d hoped Michael had turned on the air conditioning in his record room, like he had the last time – an inviting refuge, his converted garage, full of vinyl and musical gear and cool. He hadn’t. We walked in, he flicked the switch, and I took off my shoes. The last time I was here Michael was carrying around a mobile IV – he had completed the radiation treatments for the cancer in his throat and lymph nodes, and was readying for his grandson’s birthday party and a gig. I asked him about both, and he said they’d gone well. I also asked if he had set up his turntable so we could inspect some marks I’d found on a nice mono copy of Coltrane’s ‘A Love Supreme’ on our last visit, as we looked up sales prices on Discogs and Popsike so he could see what price range some of his rarer records were selling for. He hadn’t. The air conditioner sputtered, and he moved gear around, and I looked at the records I’d left in a stack the last time. All in alphabetical order, Michael said, though it’s hard to understand him now. I pulled out the Coltrane album and he set up the Technics, and soon I’d placed the needle on the part of the wax where the marks were. They played with soft clicks, and no skips. It was a nice start, and a great record to listen to while going through the rest of the records there.