Open Lines
<p>A sharp blue light cut across the darkened studio. I turned down the rumbling overhead speakers to listen for thunder, as my first thought was lightning.</p>
<p>It was my third week hosting the Monday morning graveyard shift on my college radio station. I had never actually seen the phone flash before, because, well, I was on in the earliest hours of Monday morning. It’s literally the worst shift on a college station, beginning just as the last of the stragglers are going to bed, having feverishly skimmed through the reading for Monday’s classes, and ending just before the early risers are pouring the first cup of coffee.</p>
<p>By the fourth blast of light, process of elimination told me to pick up the phone.</p>
<p>Adopting my heaviest late night DJ voice, I hit the receiver with the station’s call letters, followed by “you’re grooving eternal with Nocturnal.” After settling on <em>The Eternal Groove</em> for my show’s name, I had chosen my DJ handle solely for the purpose of tagging mic breaks with that mellifluous phrase. I was going to milk it for all it was worth.</p>
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