the only good fascist is a very dead fascist - propagandhi

you’re minding your own business, flicking through the various vinyls, not necessarily looking for one in particular but–a small gasp of excitement leaves your lips as you stumble upon one you’ve wanted to add to your collection or a while now. you quickly pluck it out and clutch it to your chest with excitement as you roam more of the store.

time goes, you cluelessly looking around when suddenly—a commotion begs for your attention. you stride towards the yelling with pique curiosity, your fingers lightly tapping at the vinyl in your hands.

you stop abruptly as you see what’s drawn you in—a beat up looking guy, sporting an army green bomber jacket and a long-ish mohawk is yelling something at the clerk across the check out desk.