It made no sense to her that dragging a needle across a flat black piece of plastic could make all the music they’d grown up with and loved. When she was six, someone had explained to her that the grooves on the LPs were really little hills and valleys and that the needles made music from bouncing through them. One day when she learned that her fingerprints were little hills and valleys, she got a sewing needle and dragged it across her fingers. All it did was draw blood. Lesson learned. People weren’t records. Records were.
—Richard Kadrey/Dead Set