The radio dial was a strip of numbers behind a piece of glass and a needle that moved when you turned the knob. You turned the knob slowly and the needle moved across the numbers and the static changed and the stations appeared and disappeared like buildings passing a train window. Finding a station on the radio dial was an act of discovery. You did not choose from a menu. You searched.

The radio dial had a texture. Between the stations there was static and the static was the sound of the universe talking to itself. The static was not nothing. The static was everything that was not a station. The algorithm has no static. The algorithm shows you what it thinks you want and hides everything else. The radio dial showed you everything and let you decide. The static was the sound of freedom. The silence between the options.

I had a radio on East Seventh Street with a dial that glowed green. I turned the knob at night and the AM stations came in from other cities. Cleveland. Chicago. New Orleans. The radio at night was a geography lesson. The signal bounced off the atmosphere and the atmosphere delivered other cities to your bedroom. The radio dial at night was a map of the country drawn in sound. The internet delivers other cities too but the internet does not surprise you. The radio surprised you every night.

The radio dial is gone. The radio is digital now. You press a button and the station appears. There is no knob. There is no needle. There is no static between the stations. There is no space between the choices. The digital radio gives you the station instantly. The analog radio gave you the journey. The knob was the steering wheel. The dial was the road. The static was the scenery. Now you arrive without traveling. The destination is the same. The trip is gone.

See also: Rooftop Antenna, Jukebox Diner