Rows of vinyl and CDs stretch to the low ceiling, organized in a way that feels intuitive only to the person who stocked them. A cheap speaker behind the counter plays something fuzzy and guitar-driven at a low volume.

Behind the counter, leaning against the cash register with a bored expression, is the clerk. Tall and lean, with choppy black hair that falls into dark-lined eyes. A silver lip ring glints under the fluorescent light, matching the septum ring. They’re wearing a worn band t-shirt and black jeans, one thumb hooked in a belt loop.