I Think the Record’s Stopped

My fingers are getting sore, I’ll be here for hours, I’m pretty sure the girl opposite is flirting. I can’t make my mind up, look at the records that flicker in front of me, or look at her. I commit to the music, I always do.

Los Campesinos!, Local Natives, so many potential purchases within one letter, it’s been like this since the beginning. Browsing through A to Z will only depress me. I should’ve learn’t by now that if you don’t have any money, don’t go to Rough Trade.

I shuffle myself over to the next letter and begin sifting through. My fingers walk across the covers and slide each one to the next. I look up to where the girl used to be. My heart sinks, she’s gone forever. I pull out a record, there’s a lump in my throat and my face goes red. It’s my band’s single. I slide it back in amongst the greats, gather my things, and leave. Where has she gone? She’s gotta see this.

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