One of my ladyfriend’s favorite hobbies is antiquing on the weekends. While she typically enjoys finding things like rustic furniture, unique jewelry and other semi-conversational items on the cheap, I usually tag along to seek out somewhat collectible records, but, sadly, only coming up with a water-damaged and badly-scratched copy of Foghat’s Tight Shoes.
On a recent relic run, we stopped by one of her favorite antique shops, the Rink Gallery, 3200 N. Rockwell Ave. in Bethany. While she found a couple of art-deco necklaces and other vaunted treasures of the price-tagged past, I, of course, came up empty-handed, disappointed by the lack of listenable vinyl recordings that I had hoped to find.
Still, as I was looking at a stacked bookcase filled with mostly aged textbooks, I could smell the strong scent of barbecue hovering in the air; like an animated dog with a hungry nose that whimsically floats him to the source, I found myself at the somewhat blocked—for Covid-19, of course—snack stand with a glass case on the counter where, wrapped tightly in butcher paper, sat one last slab of meat.
