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Cash Money
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Come on and slam
[ *  * ]
"Uh... sure, go right ahead."

Randall had caught a bit of the preceding conversation as he'd stepped up to the counter, and the embarrassment in Ruby's voice was evident. Apparently she'd gotten Björk mixed up with Yoko Ono. Randall smiled slightly out of amusement, but did so while realizing that it wasn't a hard mistake to make. They did both write "weird songs," as Ruby put it, both at least looked Asian to some extent, and both were widely known but written off by the general public as kooks more notable for their weird public mannerisms than for their considerable musical output. Rachel was at least interested in listening, though; that was a good sign.

Randall turned around and walked back over to the bins. He wouldn't want to interrupt any conversation Rachel and Ruby were going to have. The soft flipping resumed, and a veritable bounty of records caught his eye as he filed through the stacks. He had to exercise some self-control, otherwise this trip was going to spend a lot more than just his grandparents' check in a hurry. It was worth getting the Steely Dan record because it was the pinnacle of production for its day, or so he'd heard, and he wanted to check that claim out for himself in the original analog format. Any reason less compelling than that, though, was not worth spending money on. Randall's iTunes collection may have been huge, but his record collection was going to stay purposefully small and well-curated.

"Oh, sorry girlies, were you saying something?

Ugh. Just from the dismissive tone of voice, he could tell that it was one of those football-playing guys. The kind of clueless, insult and abuse-slinging meatheads who had surrounded him in middle school and made his life miserable. He'd stayed away from them as much as he could back then, both physically and ideologically, and keeping his head down was a way of life. He was done with that now, though. In Seattle, he could be exactly who he wanted to be.

Except apparently those meatheads were now invading one of his favorite record stores. And harassing the cashiers, and dismissing the customers, and...

I heard this "Bork" recently and, wouldn't you know it, I had this sudden urge to fall asleep."

Well bless his heart. He didn't even know who Björk was. Not only that, but he didn't care, actively and aggressively so. If he'd ever heard of Björk, he wouldn't have said what he just did. First time listeners rarely felt like falling asleep, from his experience. More like begged him to turn it off. Björk's voice was a divisive one, not something you'd fall asleep to. So it was obvious that this guy was just being an ass for the sake of being an ass.

Now that Randall had gotten a good sampling of this guy's particular flavor of abusive tone, he knew exactly who it was behind him. Not his name, mind you, but he had a face, a height, and a few bad memories to match. Randall told himself to continue browsing, keep your head down, he's not paying attention to you, why did your hands stop moving, close your eyes and keep browsing -

"It's pronounced Björk."

Goddammit why did he have to say that? Randall from four years ago would have told present-Randall he must not have had any sense left in him. Randall from four years ago woulda been right, too. So Randall felt like a complete idiot as he turned his head over towards the counter and explained, despite himself:

"It's spelled 'buh-jork,' but it's pronounced Björk."
V5 concepts:
Randall Cimora: aspiring music producer, easygoing, space cadet, new kid
     Currently blowing his Christmas money in Life is like a broken record
Leah Chapel: classic teenage rebel, sneaky, pessimistic, the un-favorite
     Re-upping in LSMFT
Milo Richter: consummate professional, intellectual, debater, self-conscious
     Convincing someone of what they already believe in Variables...

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Life is like a broken record · The Neighborhood