(This episode was co-written with Brie Williams.)

The prison of your own mind is undergoing budget cuts. Welcome to Night Vale.

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Today, I'd like to open the show with a statement from local business owner, Michelle Nguyen.

MICHELLE: An insidious presence has invaded our town. That presence is located in the Night Vale Mall and is called the Burger Barn/GladTown Records Express. I've seen you shopping there, Night Vale. And I want you to know, you're all murderers with the figurative blood of independent record stores dripping from your hands. “No no,” you'll say, “that isn't figurative blood, Michelle! It's literal barbecue sauce from the Black Angus barbecue bacon burger and it's delicious."

You'll keep blathering on about how "Burger Barn/GladTown Records Express keeps thick, juicy beef burgers layered in between their albums so you can flip past them and impulse eat as you shop. It's so convenient!”

Well, you know what? Convenience is another word for laziness. When you come to my store, to Dark Owl Records, you have to earn your music. Our extensive underground section is kept literally underground, and you have to dig random holes in the dirt to find it. We don't provide you with a shovel, you can't even bring your own. You must use your fingers. Broken knuckles and fingernails peeled back to the quick are the sign of a true music lover.

Sometimes you won't find music you think you like, but then you realize that the rhythmic grunts and scrapes of bloodied hands into rocky earth is ITSELF music.

Anyway, come to my fundraiser tonight at Dark Owl Records. It's a party and parties are the worst, but I don't have the money to pay my bills anymore and it's your fault, so just show up and do the right thing, or I'll go out of business. Okay, thanks.

CECIL: Thank you, Michelle. Our radio station is doing a remote broadcast live today at the Save Dark Owl Fundraiser. We'll do some interviews and there'll be live bands and it should be a lot of fun. Hope to see you down here, Night Vale. Come show your support for local small business.

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But first, a word from our sponsor. Today's program is brought to you by the Burger Barn/GladTown Records Express. The popular franchise mash-up had its grand opening only three weeks ago and is already a booming success! From their regional frosty treats like the Cactus Thorn Malt to their wide selection of 'best of' compilation albums, there's something for everyone at Food Barn/GladTown Records Express. And by popular demand, there's now extra fry sauce on everything, including the bluetooth headphones. You don't even have to ask for it. You have to ask if you don't want fry sauce. And you have to give a good reason why not, like a signed doctor's note.

Burger Barn/GladTown Records Express - your community entertainment content conglomerate!

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And now a public service announcement.

DEB [drunk]: Hello old friends, corporeal humans, former babies, future corpses. This is Deb, a sentient patch of haze, speaking for the Department of Motor Vehicles. We know you haven't heard from us in a while. But we haven't heard from you either. Relationships are a two-way street. So to speak. I know there's been some tension, and things have gotten a little weird between us. No need to get into that right now, or ever again as far as we're concerned. But if you want to come over sometime and just talk, just to say hi or anything, the Department of Motor Vehicles will be opening our doors for one hour every weekday between 2 and 3. That’s all we have to give emotionally right now. Self care.

We would like to see you again, though. To hear your voice. We hope you've been doing well. We're a little drunk and it's late and we just got done watching Carol for the 3rd time in a week, and you haven't really been posting on social media lately, so we just want to know what's going on with you. [sound of a big gulp of whiskey on the rocks]

Again, no pressure. No strings attached. And if it gets crowded, you can always take a number, as usual. But the DMV wants you to know, whether you're number 19 or 99, you're always number one to us. [sobbing; sound of ice in glass] We miss you.

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CECIL: Listeners, we’re here live at Dark Owl Records, and the fundraiser is getting off to a great start. People are buying shards of records they dug out of the ground. There's a cake with thick black frosting and undulating tendrils. Looks delicious. There's an effigy of the Burger Barn/GladTown Records Express with a lot of long pins sticking out of it. And at the center of all the excitement is Dark Owl owner herself, Michelle Nguyen, and her girlfriend Maureen. What a treat! Hey you two! Want to say hello to all of Night Vale?

That's weird. Michelle sent me a text right now while simultaneously staring unblinkingly into my eyes from three feet away. Her text says: “We heard the spot you did for Arc Circ/GladTown Rec Ex, and we are not speaking to you at this time. Please leave my party, Cecil.”

Oh, I get it! This is a simple misunderstanding, Michelle. See, in radio journalism, we have a moral responsibility to play ads and make lots of money. I see where you’re confused. Does that help clear things up? Annnnd Maureen is pouring iced coffee all over my laptop. I'll go find a towel while you go to the weather.

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WEATHER: "A Pale Sun Rises Over New York" by Scrawnyman

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MICHELLE: Hey. This is Michelle. Cecil had to go away, but there was a hastily-assumed agreement I would take over the show while he's gone. So here I am. Michelle. Broadcasting live from my own party. Which is better than mingling with people and being all social and stuff, right? No offense to anyone who's here. But this is the first party I've ever agreed to attend, and it was only out of desperation. I mean, all parties are borne out of some form of desperation.

Ugh, parties are the worst.

I wish everyone would go home. No, no, don't go home. It's so nice that you’re here. I guess. But you know what else is nice? Being alone, or mostly alone. That's really what independent record stores stand for, you know? Individuality. Independence. Isolation. Don't follow the herd. Go home. Be alone. It's the best.

[Beat]

Oh shoot. I was afraid something like this would happen! I mean, everything's fine. There's just a little situation out back. I'm gonna hand the mic over to Maureen while I deal with this.

MAUREEN: Uh. Hello? Hey. This is Maureen. Don't be scared or anything. Actually, be scared, but not about what I'm going to tell you. What happened is, some people were digging in the underground music section and the ground kind of split apart and now there's a giant arthropod… thing… tearing people's limbs off and whatever. It seems really mad and people are screaming. There's kind of a lot of blood. Ugh, blood is so stupid.

But Michelle has it under control now. She's kicked out everyone but the spider/crustacean thing, because it was the only one that wasn't being fake about its love of music. So, yeah, come on down to the store.

Remember, we're here to save Dark Owl. And even though the biggest section is the Not For Sale rack, there's still a lot of great things to choose from. I know some of the best things I've ever found have been here. Michelle, for one. Don’t tell her I said that.

Also, earlier today, I was crawling around inside the ventilation system, and I thought it would be really narrow and claustrophobic like airflow shafts usually are, but it actually kept growing wider and taller until I could stand up and walk around. I could even run if I wanted to. The ducts and passageways unfolded in front of me and I felt totally lost but in a good way. I ran and ran, and somewhere along the way, I lost my flashlight, and it didn't matter. I could see with a sense other than vision. Maybe it was taste. The ductways tasted like an everything bagel, and that guided my way.

Then I could taste voices outside the vents. A voice I knew well was talking to a customer about a color vinyl limited edition single of Love Will Tear Us Apart on one side and Love Will Keep Us Together on the other. The record’s cover art depicted the eruption of Mount St. Helens, but like a year before it actually happened, which makes it super valuable. I followed the taste of their voices, which was like green apples but the artificial candy flavor version, and I ended up in the obsolete media bunker behind the register, where I laid down on a pile of warm Sheena Easton cassingles and CD-Roms filled with corrupted Limewire files. That's where I am now. I'm going to take a nap. Bye.

MICHELLE: Hey Night Vale. I'm back. [occasional sound of Maureen snoring in bg?] It’s all under control now. Sorry, I have kind of a contentious relationship with my neighbor Matt. He’s a 15-foot coconut crab that lives underneath the lot behind our store. We usually get along okay but he really does not like parties and I should have told him in advance but I was busy and totally forgot, so my bad. Anyway, I let Matt eat the patrons who were wearing airpods, and he was happy, so the party is still going strong. Most of the people are dead or have been kicked out, but I want to make it clear that the party is still happening. So, come on down to Dark Owl Records, and save our store.

Honestly, things are so much better now that everyone's gone, so this is really the perfect time to show up.

[beat]

We have some special listening stations where you can browse all your favorite genres, like silence, post-silence, proto-silence, under-silence. I know you guys might not have heard of under-silence yet but that's like when the headphones are projecting what's inside of you back into your own ears and you can hear your internal organs processing blood and fluids and you're filled with the awe of how all these seemingly archaic gooey parts can possibly work together to keep you alive and functioning, and you eventually pass out and/or vomit.

(Sigh) I really don't know what I'll do if I have to leave this place. I've spent so much time here, I don't even remember where my house is. One night after work, I walked down the street I thought it was on, but nothing looked familiar, and I kept walking for hours. I finally saw my house but when I walked in, the door opened into the kitchen instead of the living room, and there was this family I'd never seen before eating dinner. There were four large serving bowls of mashed root vegetables on the table. The family didn't notice me at all. They ate their mush and talked about their days. The mom was worried about her new boss at work and the son forgot to go to his dentist appointment and the daughter had a chemistry test that went okay. I didn't want to freak them out, so I let myself out the back door and kept walking until it was morning. And in the cacophonous creak of dawn, I ended up back at Dark Owl just in time to open for the new day. And it didn't matter, you know, that I couldn't find my house. Because... (Sigh)

Wait, what's this? An empty-eyed courier child just handed me an envelope. There's a...there’s a check inside! And a coupon for something called the 100% Fish Hot Dog. And a handwritten note.

It says: “Hello. My name is Jules and I'm the franchise owner at the new Burger Barn/GladTown Records Express. Here is the rest of the money for your fundraising goal. When you become a franchise owner like me, you'll think to yourself, oh cool, I'm an entrepreneur now, I'm going to be my own boss, I'm finally going to have agency in my life, you know? At least that's what I thought when I filled out the online personality test that told me I had what it takes. I'm a Type 23: outgoing but grounded. I'm detail oriented but I can also see the big picture. I'm competitive but I follow the rules. Classic Type 23.”

The note goes on. "But there are so many rules, Michelle. You have to conform when you're in a franchise. And if you don't, you'll go under, not merely monetarily, but to this place they refer to only as The Cavern. If you end up there, you don't ever come out again. Anyway, one rule is that we need at least one business competitor to remain open at all times. Until our lobbyists finally overturn the Sherman Antitrust Act, we need Dark Owl Records to stay in business. So please take this money. I don't want to go to the Cavern. Please, Michelle. Sincerely, Jules”

Okay. Not sure how to deal with this right now, if I'm honest. This person opened up a rival record franchise, and now they want to give me money from their corporation to stay in business? I don't know. I need to go soul-searching. I need to listen to some ambient room tone tracks used under famous movie scenes. I really like the one from the diner in When Harry Met Sally. Whatever. I guess.

[sound of her leaving, then several seconds of dead air, then the sound of someone approaching the mic]

CECIL [winded]: Night Vale. I'm so sorry I left you. I went to go get a towel to clean up the spilled iced coffee, and there was this giant spider/lobster thing. He cornered me, and I couldn't escape.

He just kept talking and talking, and god he was boring. The worst person to run into at a party. I didn't know how to get out of the conversation without being rude. I finally said I'd go grab us both a slice of cake and sidled out of there.

Hope everything went okay while I was gone. Let's see, there's no one really left, the radio gear has been abandoned except a sleeping Maureen under my chair. There's an inordinate amount of blood on the floor. And hey, looks like the little cardboard thermometer that shows the fundraising goal has been fully colored in! Wow! We did it, Night Vale! I guess that means there's enough money to keep Dark Owl in business, at least through this month's bills. That's the thing about bills. They keep happening. Well, whatever the future holds, the party was clearly a success, as was this ultra-fun remote broadcast.

So, music lovers, kick back, put on your fry sauce-doused headphones, listen to your newly purchased album shards, and put some vitamin E cream on those knuckles.

Stay tuned next for the clack-clack-clack of CD cases being browsed, like a fluttery little heartbeat in the darkness.

Goodnight, Night Vale. Goodnight.