Welcome, friend. Have a seat by the fire. Make yourself comfortable.

... Vintage vinyl and musty record sleeves permeated the air for just a moment, hung like a sweet

specter of the past, a restless ghost, a reminder of a bygone era, when radio meant a needle plowing grooves through a r ghost. A reminder of a bygone era.

When radio meant a needle plowing grooves

through a record spun round and round.

Such was that bittersweet memory

in this corner of his dreaming mind

that carried him back to that place,

that time, back to her.

A corner that he dared visit only on occasion, for there were other memories here

as well, shadows that loomed and crept and whispered, and a keen awareness of a dark presence

that often still drove him from sound slumber, screaming like a madman,

into the night.

You're listening to Camp Fire Radio Theatre. Tonight's tale is a first for our series of ventures into the macabre.

You might call it a very special kind of love story, though much like other tragic romances

of the past, we caution you to take care not to smile at any part of it.

The play is from the pin of John Ballantine and is entitled Night Delivery.

It was a summer job. I was fresh out of college, and the real world, as they call it, was knocking.

That summer, back in the mid-80s, I fell in love, fell in love with radio and rock and roll and a girl, a really hot girl in a red dress on a cool, cool neon-lit Georgia night.

...w H-L, A-Town's hot spot on the FM dial. Keep it chill, boys and girls, and play nice with our new nighttime voice.

He's a tender radio virgin with sad eyes, but a heart of gold.

So, where was I?

...