He smiled. “It’s nice to meet you. Damn it—” Brian noticed a Talking Heads tape in the wrong spot and went to fix it. It killed him when people shoved music wherever they were standing when they decided not to buy it. It wasn’t that he minded an employee having to do the work; he just imagined this scenario in which that tape was the only one in stock and somebody couldn’t buy it because they couldn’t find it.

“You said boat, not plane, so I take it you’re here for a while. You shouldn’t shop anywhere else. Unless you’re looking for pants, I can’t help you with that.” He took another look at her outfit. If she was new in town, he should give her a flyer for whatever gigs were coming up at the Dive. “Hey, Billie, toss me one of those,” he said, pointing to a white paper covered in black logos.

Annoyed at him, the manager picked up a single page and let it fly into the air with a flourish. It got all of two feet before sailing to the ground.

Brian lifted his chin. “Thanks,” he said.

“No problem,” she replied.

“Um.” He pointed at a new release by Red Lorry Yellow Lorry. “Grab that one. The one with the creepy guy on the cover art. You’ll like it if you’re into Joy Division.” He jogged over to the flyer to pick it up, his doc martens clunking on the thin carpet over wooden flooring.