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Josephine Lightfoot is the daughter of Joseph Lightfoot, an award winning songwriter. The brunette spent her time as a kid learning to play the piano, violin, and guitar. When it comes to music she's hard to impress, and keeps her dearly b...
Josephine Lightfoot, 24 Daughter of Joseph Lightfoot, dabbles in songwriting, but nothing serious. Music is her passion.
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Chris Cornell, 30 Between Soundgarden and Audioslave. Just left a dysfunctional relationship and working through his depression.
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JOSEPHINE SUMMER OF 1997 SEATTLE, WA
The smell of brewing coffee wafts through the dusty room and into my nostrils as my fingertips flip through the stacks of vinyl records. I relish the scent, taking a peek out the storefront windows at the gloomy Seattle morning. Light grey clouds cover the street in a hazy overcast, the sun doing its best to fight a losing battle much like most days on the north western coast.
Around seven this morning, the rain had stopped which was not long before I'd stepped out the door of my apartment building. A stroke of luck. The record store owned by two of my favorite people in the world, Ryan and Felix, has been my routine every Wednesday morning since they opened the doors a year ago. A little Washington State rain wouldn't have stopped me, but it's nice to be dry for once.
Inside, I'm submerged in a sea of multicolored album covers, piled high in old plastic milk crates. Shelves line the walls filled to the brim and boxes line the floor, almost every inch of the place. My bottom lip finds its way between my teeth as I inspect a well preserved Dark Side of the Moon.
"You need some coffee, Jo?" I hear a man's voice call from the back of the store. I can picture him in the backroom, coffee pot in hand looking like the poster boy for big city grunge, his tattered jean jacket and shaggy black hair topping off the rebel look.
"That'd be great, Felix."
A moment later, the raven haired employee of Spin City steps through the door leading to the backroom holding two coffee mugs, his brown work boots half unlaced making a ruckus on the hardwood floor. Felix hands me a black mug with white flowers etched into the surface, my favorite. There's a few chips and scratches on the porcelain, but the heat warms my hands just the same as any.
