For once, we could afford to buy a CD at Tower Records. Unfortunately, the pickings were slim and the occasion sad.

In October the national record store chain succumbed to the pressure of its online competitors, selling the assets from its 85 stores to a liquidation firm and marking the end of a generation of music buyers who preferred to curiously browse through unknown bands at the advice of knowledgeable, if surly clerks. Since then, Tower Records across the country have slashed prices — too late, ironically — on all their goods, trying to get as much out the door before they officially close their doors. The District’s only store, located in Foggy Bottom, will finally shutter on Wednesday, and when we stopped by on Sunday afternoon, we saw a record store stripped of both offerings and spirit, a mere shadow of its former raucous self.

There’s wasn’t much left. Posters had been torn from the walls, the legendary magazine rack was a fraction the size of its original incarnation, the stairs to the second floor were blocked off to customers, and signs desperately advertised dramatically slashed prices. Everything was up for grabs. The remaining music DVDs were discounted 70 percent, CDs 80 percent, and magazines 95 percent. You could get a single for $1, or pick five rap CDs and drop a mere $5. Even office supplies and furniture were tagged for sale — a 40-watt bulb cost $1, a box of envelopes $5, a price gun $10, a box of fluorescent light-bulbs $100, and a large rack to display DVDs $250. So desperate was the plea to buyers that a manager walked around with a Sharpie in hand, ready to adjust a price downwards if the market within seemed to demand it (a DVD set of the “Merv Griffin Show” dropped from from $10 to $9 on a whim, but it wasn’t enough to close a sale). And for those really trying to pinch pennies, three cans of paint stood abandoned under a sign glumly noting, “Free Paint.”

What remained in the store seemed like a good indication of music, movies, and cultural trinkets that never much had any hope with people of taste — apparently, we got beat to anything worth listening to, watching, putting up on a wall, or reading. Only a few racks of CDs were stocked, but not with anything we’d want to spend money on. Hanson, Hoobastank, and Kelly Osbourne seemed in particularly ample supply, and even an Aqua single — an import! — sat unbought. The posters were well-priced, but we’d have been forced to pick between Motley Crue, a pre-pubescent Lindsay Lohan, or Hoobastank (there they are again). Even the books had been raided, leaving behind such choice titles as “Star Struck” (a novel by Pamela Anderson), “Snakes on a Plane: A Guide to the Internet Sssssensation” (a book about how bloggers ensured that the Samuel Jackson masterpiece made it to theaters), and “Real Men Don’t Apologize” (Jim Belushi can write?).

It was a somber farewell for a cultural institution. Customers wondered aimlessly, hoping for one last treasure among the racks and racks of music’s worst. Some succeeded, others settled for the free paint. No one seemed to want the Hoobastank offerings, though.