Leaving Everything Behind

Records Are Like A Story Book Telling The Tale Of Someone Else's Life.

I found the nearest parking space I could, locked my car, and ran to the doors of Vintage Vinyl. 
I always loved working in a record shop, because I get free vinyl whenever there's an album I really want. 
I opened the door, cringing at the sound of the obnoxious bells hanging above, signaling whenever we've got a new customer. 
Quietly, I made my way past the rows and rows of music gold, and took my place behind the register.

Before any customers could attack me and ask me for help, I walked through the doorway behind the counter, where tye-dye beads hung from the top of the doorframe. 
The back room consisted of shelves filled with backstock of records, boxes, and a lounge area where employees could hang out on our breaks.
Also, in the back corner of the room was a smaller room with a desk and a filing system, where the manager, Tony, usually sat doing work. 

"Hey Tony!" I called into the almost empty room, putting my bag on one of the chairs in the back room, and pulling a cigarette from the cartrage. Putting it between my lips, I lit up and took a drag of the smoke before I walked into the back room. "I'm here... I'm a little early so I'm gonna have a quick smoke before I head to the register."

"Yah, no problem sugar." Tony smiled, before returning his focus to his work 

Tony's a sweet guy.
He's this funny Italian guy, who didn't turn out to be the person his parents wanted him to be... Oh the sweet irony... Turns out, his old man is apart of the mafiosa, and Tony... Well, Tony's a hardcore hippie. 
I don't know what goes on in the mafia, but if Tony's not too interested, than I don't want to know. 

Tony's gray streaked black hair was scraggly and pulled back into a ponytail which hung down his back. 
He wore a tye-dye t-shirt and a brown suede vest, with a pair of bellbottoms and sandals. 
Typical fuckin' tony. 

I took a final drag of my cigarette and put it out in the orange MelMac ashtray that was resting on the black coffee table in the center of a group of beanbag chairs.

I picked up my bag and walked out towards the register, where I put my bag on the floor underneathe the stool which is where I'd be spending every minute of my 6 hour shift. 

As per my usual routine, I flipped through the pile of open records we kept behind the counter, and picked up Aerosmith's newest record 'Get Your Wings'. 
-We kept a Crosley behind the register counter, so I could play stuff for either myself, or for the customers, so we could show them what's new.-
Anyway, I put the vinyl on the record player, and switched it on, allowing the sweet music to float around the shop.

The first song on the album was one that helped the name Aerosmith get around; Same Old Song And Dance.
As the opening riff surrounded me, I burried my face in the newest issue of the Rolling Stone magazine, reading about some interview with the legendary Paul McCartney. 
I found myself singing along with the lyrics, grasping a few peoples attention.

"Said love ain't the same on the south side of town
You can look, but you ain't gonna find it around."

"Excuse me, Miss?" 
I looked up from my article to see Mrs High-and-fuckin-mighty herself, Amy Harrison.
Her face instantly fell when she realized I was the one she was speaking too.
"Ohh... I didn't know you worked here." She sneered ferociously.

"What do you want, dick breath?" I rolled my eyes and returned my focus back to my magazine. 

"Well... I was wondering if you had an open copy of that record we were listening to, today in class?" I don't want to waste my money on that filth, and I need to get my homework done. 

"You see, I could be a good person and put it on... But then that would mean I'm helping you, and I really don't want to do that." I laughed evily, still glancing at my magazine, flipping the page over as I propped my head up on my elbow, resting it on the counter. "Plus, I like this record too much to change it."