Reckless Lots

I find record stores as uncomfortable as book stores. I love these places, but I am under-qualified to be there. I know nothing of music or books. I played the violin for a little while when I was younger but what kid didn't play the violin? Sure, I'm a writing student. That doesn't mean a thing if I can't focus to write what I need to write.

Record stores make my guts open up and let my heart dive into an acidic bath. I get so nervous. I bite my nails. I end up buying some album, any album. Please don't judge me, I think. Please be my friend and think that my selection means that I am an inviting and interesting person.

Admittedly, that's stupid. Pathetic. No one cares about what album I am buying, about what album I'm listening to, what song I'm obsessed with. No one really cares about much of anything, least of all some dippy girl who is clutching on to a Leonard Cohen album she already owns but will probably buy again anyway because she's forgotten her Ever-Growing List of Records That Should Be Bought. She's forgotten it because she's walked into a dim record store where everyone else knows everyone else and she's starting to bite her nails, really bite them, and goodness, that's the sound of a heart splashing and writhing inside of another organ, isn't it?