“Sadie, Emma, wake up.” The sun isn’t even up yet. “C’mon girls, let’s go.” It’s Henry jumping around trying to stir enthusiasm, so we get dressed in zombie mode. Our house on Chestnut Street is walking distance to the Penguin Feather, a dusty record store that my stepfather visits often and where Sadie just bought Michael Jackson’s Thriller album. There are hundreds of rock ‘n’ roll stickers and buttons on the wall, and behind the glass are miniature versions of the caterpillar’s hookah from Alice in Wonderland. This morning the store is the site of a live broadcast for WHFS.