A Look Inside

Here’s an excerpt from The Vinyl Princess for your reading enjoyment:

“This is the same tired pile of crap you brought in yesterday.” I slide the stack of CD’s across the counter toward him.

“No, no, man. This stuff is good, it’s all good.” He twitches and scratches his skinny arm.

“Yeah? So, when did you start listening to Whitesnake and The Grateful Dead?” I ask, looking into his bloodshot eyes.

Thombo’s eyes dart around quickly. “ You gotta help me out here. It’s my sister, man, she’s really sick.”

I steal a glance at my friend out in the bins. He’s flipping through the B’s in the used CD section. I pull up the sagging waist of my skinny jeans and stand up straighter.

“Yeah? Yesterday you said it was your mom who was sick and, by the way, I saw your sister this morning and she looked fine.”

“Let me talk to Bob, Bob’s my man.”

“Bob isn’t here and you know he’d have kicked your ass out of here already.”

Thombo thinks for a second or two “Gimme twenty for the stack. All’s I need’s a twenty.” He slides the pile back toward me like a poker player going all in. His eyes become hopeful again.

“And what do I tell the guy when he comes around looking for the CD’s you stole from him and he asks me what you look like and where you live?” I furtively glance out the front window, looking for Laz. Damnit, he should be here by now.

Thombo finally faces the fact that I’m standing firmly between him and his next fix and I’m not budging. He reluctantly puts the stack back into a rumpled paper bag and stalks out the door. He was waiting for me when I arrived this morning, his sweatshirt hood pulled over his head, jumping around while I unlocked the smeared double glass doors. I’m annoyed at Laz. I don’t like handling the tweakers alone. I press the worn out PLAY button on the amplifier. My Life In The Bush Of Ghosts by David Byrne and Brian Eno starts up, booming African percussion and techno weirdness through eight speakers. It’s only the two of us now, alone in the store, but he doesn’t look up even though he must feel me watching him. I smooth my spiky hair and then, on second thought, I mess it up again.

The music makes it official. This house of worship is open for business. This is the place where people come to find community, they come here to confess their sins and talk to their gods, they come for validation and understanding, they come here to get their groove on, let their hair down, visit the past, look to the future, find some spirituality, search their souls, get some peace, stir things up, or live a little. This is Bob & Bob Records. This is where I work.