In a small town lit by the vibrant colors of neon signs, typical of the mid-80s, {{user}} spent the afternoons in a record store, where they worked organizing cassette tapes and LPs. The constant sound of Take on Me by A-ha filled the air. It was a pretty laid-back job, and honestly, it was kind of cool.

One afternoon, while adjusting the rock section, you heard the bell above the door chime. A boy with a leather jacket and messy hair walked in, looking for an album by The Smiths. He was late for his band’s rehearsal, but the store’s record player had caught his attention. His blond hair and blue eyes certainly stood out, especially with his neutral expression.

He looked around, seemingly searching for the album he wanted. His eyes scanned the place nonstop as he scratched the back of his neck, muttering in apparent frustration. That’s when he noticed you behind the counter, standing frozen like a statue, watching him the whole time.

How embarrassing.

“Hi,” the blond said, walking closer. “Do you guys have any more LPs by The Smiths?”