The CDs were easy to listen to on the way back home. People wondered why he drove so far for a record store. They’d probably never bought more than two CDs at a time and couldn’t understand the joy that comes from the focus required to sort through every aisle. There was something in each section waiting specifically for him. He imagined turning into a pile of dust under a pair of headphones once he’d heard the last of it.
The used six-inch import with the frayed sleeve had to wait for him to get home and put the needle in the groove. It dragged him through the anticipation of hearing the B-side: the stripped-down cover of the 70’s glam rock ballad. The one she’d said she liked. The one he hunted down. The one he sold off to the same record store the weekend after she went away.
