sex // m.h. {AU}

one (matty)

the high-pitched ting of the bell hanging above the door greeted me as i stepped into the record shop that smelled of dust and coffee. i've never really liked the smell of coffee. i love the drink, don't get me wrong. but the smell makes me slightly nauseous. and actually, i wouldn't say i loved the drink. i find myself incapable of loving much. i like coffee quite a bit. i don't like the shop im in; it's hard to find, blending in easily with the others along the strip. 

it wasn't anything special. it was an old brick square. that's pretty much the only way to describe it without romanticizing it in a way that a hipster-blog on tumblr would be jealous of. i can romanticize a lot of things that aren't too special to me. in the middle there are dusty shelves and racks with numerous genres of music and tons of vinyls, all pre-owned because that's the theme of the shop, near the door is a small table with stale, cold, complementary coffee, and in the far right corner there's a group of florescent fixtures that each say something artificial and 'inspiring'. very romantic, right?

i walk over to the rows of albums, looking through them. one catches my eye, the art work, not the actual album. it showed a boy on the cover, a sign above him saying 'K. West' and a box that had 'london' written on it with other things i can't quite make out. i grabbed it from its stationary place in the rack, carrying it triumphantly to the checkout counter.

"ah i love this album. i have my own copy at home" i slid the album to her across the counter.

i looked up at a beautiful girl who had a thousand star-like freckles across her cheeks and nose, her lashes and eyebrows a dark brown while her hair was a wild mix of orange, red, and blonde bundled atop her head. her lips were small and pale, and i could only imagine her teeth digging into the lower of the two. her skin was like milk. "pardon?" i spoke, tilting my head a little.

"the rise and fall of ziggy stardust and the spiders from mars? its a bowie album. to be honest when you walked in here i took you as more of a social distortion guy, what with the hair and all." she giggled. oh god her giggle was the most terribly beautiful thing.

"no i actually only want it for the album art. i've never listened to any of david bowie's stuff before." i said, scratching the back of my neck.

"stuff? sir you mean art. anyways what do you mean you've never listened to bowie? not even starman?"

"nope" she scoffed at me. she never said anything back and instead continued on to ringing me up. she gave me my total and i payed her, telling her keep the change and grabbing the vinyl, muttering a goodbye. 

after getting into my car and setting the album into the passenger seat, i started the motor and headed back to london.

that night, alone in my small apartment, i listened to the album once, twice, a third time, and felt it until i went to sleep. i have to say, i don't know why she made such a fuss over starman, because personally, i like rock 'n' roll suicide best of them all.

i want to shag that girl from the shop.

romantic right?