For the true record hound, there is nothing like walking into a record store and inhaling the unmistakable smell of aged vinyl. A heady blend of countless basements, peach crates, dorm rooms, over-the-garage-apartments, wood-paneled dens, living rooms, sensimilla residue and human hands, long-play records carry the aroma of past lives, late nights and lonely hearts within their grooves. Euclid Records' new location is the Amsterdam for vinyl junkies: Row after row of perfectly aged LPs from the entire spectrum of recorded sound unfold in all directions. Sure, a front corner of the room is reserved for the rich man's 8-track (or "compact disc," if you will), but when faced with the choice between an aluminum simulacrum of Big Black's Headache EP and a slightly scuffed radio-station copy of the real thing, with the play list card still attached to the jacket (denoting six plays the first week, two the next and then never again), only a damn fool would shell out for a fake when it's a mere $8 for a piece of history. Right now, today, Euclid Records is the finest source for vinyl in town: When they open their still-under-construction 45 room, they will become the ultimate record store on the eastern side of the state. Oh, happy day.