Linda's POV
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"Where are we going?" I ask, grabbing his hand.
"You'll see."
We walk out of the shop into the breezy summer weather of cloudy skies, hair hitting me in the face with their sharp ends. I didn't get to enjoy my coffee. Oh well, I can always go tomorrow. We strut down the streets arm in arm, seeing all of the people looking straight ahead and John staring closer to his feet than anything else. We reach yet another store and he holds the door for me, taking a comedic bow. "Why thank you Sir Lennon, my hands are just so tired from holding all of this air in my hands all day." I joke back, hands on my hips.
"What is this place anyway?" I begin scanning the premises. The space is open and seems fairly large, bookshelves lining the blue painted walls and a cash registers close to the door, the floors lined with carpet. "This is my local record shop. This is where about a quarter of my collection and about half of my books comes from." He places a cigarette in his mouth, bringing the lighter close and holding it between his fingers.
"You want a drag?" He motions to me, bringing the smoke with it and poisoning the hairs in my nose. I shake my head while walking over to the glossy albums to escape the stench and the acid coming up my throat. Ooooo, they have Bob Dylan. I pick up the LP and scan over it with my fingers, tapping my nails against the plastic-y cardboard. "Zimmerman, eh?" "Damn right, Mr. 'The Rolling Stones are the superior group to anyone else.'"
"But they are!" I giggle lightly and turn my back away from him, flipping through more records.
"If you want something to suit your," He paused to dramatically clear his throat, "mediocre musical taste, then might I suggest this new English band Led Zeppelin. They just came out with an album at the beginning of the year. Seems promising, if you like groups that rip off some of the greats from the blues."
I roll my eyes, giving him a side eye. "Shouldn't someone be working in here?" I motion over to the front by the cash register where some decorative books and trinkets lay. "Oh, right." He jumps over all of it to stand on the other side, taking off his glasses and taking out a case from his pocket. I flinch as his finger gets close to his eye, him blinking profusely before sliding both the glasses and the case into his trouser pockets. "How may I be of help, dear?" His voice switches into a tired employee in customer service. "You work here?" "Have been since I moved down three years ago. It helps pay off my tuition, even if me aunt demands she take care of it." He sighs and manages an eye roll.
"You own this place?" I inquire.
"Heavens, no. The boss just isn't in today. 'E went on an unexpected holiday. It's okay though, I get off in a few hours anyway and most of the business comes from the kids that get off of school and want to escape their parents. Little bastards." He whispered the last part under his breath. He walked over to where I was and grabbed something in the middle of the stack, handing it to me. "If you must insist with this nonsense, do it with my supervision." It was a Monkees record that came out earlier this year, splashes of rainbow all around it. "Oh, John, I've been looking all over for this!" I fawn over it, looking inside and sliding the piece of plastic out a bit to feel it. "It's on the house."
"No, I can't let you do that-"
"The old man can't even see past the register anymore, I don't think he'll notice." He insisted, pushing it closer to me. I nodded, turning to one of the many shelves storing books. I tilt my head a bit to read the titles on the spine. Lots of them I have in my collection back at my apartment, like The Iliad and Alice In Wonderland. Some of them I've heard before but have never bothered to pick up, simply because it seems so long. "You certainly have a lot of poetry complications." I state matter-of-factually, seeing some Edgar Allen Poe and the writings of Sappho. "Oh, Sappho. I love her poetry."
