Story #18: Disco-Era Music Collector

When I first opened this locker, I was convinced it belonged to an auto mechanic. BMW parts, spring coils, a car door, hubcaps, rims—everything pointed to an automotive stash. But as I dug deeper, a different story emerged. Hidden among the grease and metal was a man’s vibrant alter ego: a Disco Man.

What began as a car parts locker soon gave way to crates of CDs—reggae, blues, jazz, soul, and genres I had barely scratched the surface of. Then came the wardrobe: flashy sequined jackets, colorful Italian leather shoes in red, white, even green. And tucked away in the back, box after box of vinyl records.

The picture was clear: this man lived life large, unapologetically and with flair. His style, his music, his rhythm—it was all here, sealed in cardboard boxes. Seeing it abandoned was bittersweet. His collection was too vast and too scattered for me to keep intact, but it spoke volumes about who he was.

I imagined him in his prime: white jacket, white pants, green alligator shoes, disco shirt flashing under the lights, moving across a crowded 1970s dance floor. Those moments weren’t recorded, tallied, or preserved—they existed only for him and those who were there.

I thought about how joy does not need witnesses. Living fully, without hesitation is what makes us, and people around us, happy. No overthinking, no judgements, just dancing - literally and figuratively. And having a ball while we have the time here in this planet.