Where is the Real Leeds?
How does one get there?
Is it floating on the air—words and music you can almost reach out and grab like wriggling worms of sound and ether? Is it in the carnival that seethes under the corrupted church, drawing the lost and vulnerable along shadowy corridors, through the strangely angled Funhouse doors, to the place where the city fathers perform secret rites with the goat-headed masters of the dark?
Do you seek the Real Leeds? Venture out to a secluded spot, turn on your radio, and spin that dial down to the murky low numbers, somewhere just around 87.9...
That music, that voice calling on the edge of static and distortion—it might lead you to that blasted and damned path toward the Real and Truest heart of Leeds, Massachusetts.
This is WXXT. It's the witching hour, when shadows take wing and nightmares stalk. Turn your radio up. Point your antennas to the infinite sky. And stay tuned for the Weather on the Sixes. WXXT. The bubbling blisters on the tongue of the Pioneer Valley.
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