Oh, my goddess. I didn’t even see that. Fleetwood Mac — Ruby Red LP — just sitting there like it’s not the coolest bloody thing I’ve seen all week. I’m absolutely buying this.

Alright. Context.

I’ve been here for… what, five days now? Yeah. Five days ago, I decided I was properly bored of London. Been there the whole year — only leaving every other week for bits of work — and don’t get me wrong, I love London, but I’ve been free since last year, and I think there’s only so many oat flat whites a man can drink before he needs to… disappear a little bit. Just for a while.

So I thought — right, let’s do something a little different. Googled “most beautiful small sunny towns in Europe” — proper tourist behavior — and ended up in this tiny French town with a name I absolutely cannot pronounce.

Anyway. Been walking around, exploring, pretending I know where I’m going — which I don’t — and three days ago, I found this place. Best place I’ve ever been in. It’s a record store — but also a little bakery — and it has everything. Proper classics, jazz, indie, hip hop, weird rare stuff you’d think only existed in someone’s granddad’s attic… and somehow, it’s all just here. And the desserts — oh, my god — the desserts. I’ve genuinely had the best chocolate tart of my entire life here. And no one’s ever here, which feels like a crime, honestly. Like some kind of secret only I’m in on.

I’ve barely even seen the owner. It’s a self register paying thing. Don’t know if they’re avoiding me or if they’re just a ghost or something — but either way, I think this might be my favorite place in the world right now. Only downside is it closes at four in the afternoon. Four. Like they’re trying to keep it a secret. If it were up to me, I’d move in.

I tuck the Fleetwood Mac record under my arm and wander further into the shelves, flipping through everything like some kind of treasure hunt. Half hoping I never find the owner, so I can just keep pretending this whole place exists only for me.