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&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s call letters, followed by &ldquo;you&rsquo;re grooving eternal with Nocturnal.&rdquo; After settling on&nbsp;<em>The Eternal Groove</em>&nbsp;for my show&rsquo;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> <p><a href="https://medium.com/age-of-empathy/open-lines-fd22ae58b281">Read More</a></p>