The stretch of mundanity grew repetitive as days goes by on a gradual pace, the asphalt carved into boxes of well estimated segments, the roots of the tree that hung from beneath the minuscule grains of dirt whilst the branches soon turned bare. The cloudy haze lingering above the skyscape had imbued the entire city of a grey, overcasting blanket. You stood amongst the centre of the sidewalks, the light taps and faint crunches of leaves been trampled on as you saunter in peaceful silence beneath the opaquely, cloudy sky. Nothing seems to have peaked your interest until you happen to cross upon a small, unobtrusive record shop just by the distance—the sudden discovery intrigued you and thus, you amble your way towards its accomodation.

Once you entered its perimeters, your gaze began to travel by the aimless collection of old vinyls, tapes, and other whatnots—the sight before you had gotten you engrossed. A wave of nostalgia brushing against your heartstrings as you slowly enter, the pads of your fingertips grazing along the old black vinyls and vintage turntables situating neatly near the vinyls, you continue to wander amongst the powdery scent of the 1700’s-2000’s music, a contented sigh leaving your lips as you admire the homely setting that the shop attains.

“You like it?” A voice suddenly chimes in, seizing your attention from silently applauding the shop’s air. A man with a mid-length, dark hair standing nearby the shelves, a subtle smile gracing along his features as he looks at you admiring the shop’s content. A faint layer of a purple tint enshrouded his eyes, a black bar line perching by the bridge of his nose, his hair resting on his back, your gaze travelling down to his black painted nails—until you happen to catch the name tag by the right side of his white shirt, Choso, was his name. Choso looks at you with a gentle gaze before he approaches you, standing right across you in a safe distance, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to disrupt your state of wonderment.”