Bad Tastes

[holiday_pirner]

When Holly entered Tracks, the record store was mostly empty, save for a few people milling over some new releases. A Cinderella track was playing over the sound system, and strains of glam metal accompanied the brunette as she wandered over to the cassettes.

As she rifled through the Q's, trying to find a Queen album a friend had recommended, a movement in her periphery caught her eye. A boy, maybe in his mid-teens, was grasping a few tapes in his hand and acting twitchy.

Holly tilted her head, watching him closely. He was too busy looking out for store employees to notice her, until she pointedly cleared her throat. "Are you sure those are the ones you really want? I mean, if you're going to opt for the five finger discount, make it worth your while."

The brunette approached him, ignoring his surprised glare. She grabbed one of the tapes and held it up. "This one isn't too bad, but...is that Quarterflash?" Holly shook her head disapprovingly. "I think someone should call your parents just to warn them of their son's budding horrible taste in music."

He pulled away from her, grabbing the cassettes back. "Do you work here?"

Comments

[holiday_pirner]

Holly snickered at the mental image. Okay, the guy was good.

"I like darkwave. Joy Division, the Cure...post-punk holds a special place in my heart, too." The brunette watched him flip through the offerings.

"I think of music as my own personal soundtrack. Right now I need something heavy, intense, but with enough movement to get me through traffic. You know what I mean?"

[brian_campo]

“See, you’re speaking my language,” he said. There was a noticeable bounce in his step now. He got pumped whenever a customer came in who knew their shit. It meant he could skip the music heard on the radio. He moved down a couple of letters and plucked an oft-ignored band from cassette tape obscurity. “Spear of Destiny. You have to hear this song called The Wheel.” He pitched it to the brunette. “Ignore the fact that they also have a saxophone. It’s cool, I promise.”

As he continued to look for bands she might like, he looked up in curiosity. “I haven’t seen you in here before.”

[holiday_pirner]

"Cool."

She took the tape, glancing at the track listing on the back. She was putting her trust in Brian's knowledge, and he seemed to know his way around.

"That's because I haven't been. I'm kind of fresh off the boat." Still, record stores were almost universal, and there was something exciting about peeling the wrapping off of a new album and pressing play for the first time.

"My name is Holly."

[brian_campo]

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.

[holiday_pirner]

Holly smiled, biting the inside of her lip as she watched the flyer flutter to the ground. She spotted the record in question. "Creepy guy. Right." She grabbed that, as well.

Silently flanking his side, she watched him pick up the paper. "Nice boots," the brunette remarked. She was wearing red Converse high tops with glittery black laces, grey knee socks over black fishnets.

"So, what's that?," Holly asked curiously, peering at the page in his hand.