General

Trina loved her radio almost as much as her cat. It was like the one she'd grown up with, wood around the outside with circular dials and speaker. In her otherwise department store home it was the only object she felt an emotional attachment to. It brought her music, comedy and old fashioned plays. It never demanded her attention but instead sat quiet and unassuming until called upon. Even if she changed her entire decor that radio would stay - regardless of whether it was the perfect accent piece or a horrible clash. She didn't care either way. One day she'd be an old woman with it by her bedside even if it broke. Then she'd just play the greatest hits from her youth from whatever new-fangled thing was available and just pretend it was from her beloved old radio.

By maria, February 6, 2015.
General

I set the radio volume to just below the level of the bird song around me and toss it more heavily than I mean to into my bicycle's basket. There it sits at a jaunty angle, an ugly rectangle of cheap chrome singing the most beautiful jazz into the quiet suburban streets. At this time of day there is little traffic noise for it to compete with, and no roadworks yet either. There is something about the slight crackle to the music that enhances it for me, it is the accompaniment to my Saturday ride to Ben's house and I wouldn't have it any other way.

By Angela Abraham (daisy), June 24, 2015.