saffy instinctively winced at the sudden smack of kitty’s hand descending onto the glass counter, a jarring jump in ambient volume that caused the digital processor in their left ear to emit a weird, staticky pop as it scrambled to compress the audio. they didn't pull away, though; just quietly absorbed the acoustic impact, a small, wry smirk forming as they watched their friend's face light up with pure, affectionate amusement. "a t bird? jesus, ari," saffy muttered, shaking their head as they took the roxy music album back from her. "yeah, he’s gone. it's a textbook diagnosis. just pray to whatever fashion gods you subscribe to that he doesn't start wearing those heavy leather jackets with entirely too many asymmetrical zippers. there's no coming back from that."
they moved over to the old school cash register, fingers moving with practiced, mechanical efficiency over the heavy keys. the offhand mention of kitty's upcoming excursion to seattle sent a sudden, unexpected ripple through saffy's internal calendar, reminding them that they actually had some dj gigs booked in the city over the next few weeks. it had been a minute since they’d landed a decent venue with a proper sound system, and the promoter had promised an intimate, high vibe atmosphere that would be absolutely perfect for the fresh, transition heavy mixes they'd had been obsessively experimenting with. "if you're going to seattle, i'll write you a list, not just a playlist. an actual, physical list of tracks. none of that watered down radio edit garbage. i’ll map it out so the transition hits right when you’re crossing the bridge into the city."
they punched the total into the register, the satisfying, heavy clunk ching of the drawer opening a familiar rhythm as they let out a soft snort. they glanced over their shoulder toward the empty, dimly lit back room where their coworker had completely vanished mere minutes before kitty had even walked through the front door. "kick is already done for the day," they explained, nodding toward the back exit. "his shift ended right as you were walking up. and honestly, even if he were still on the clock, getting either of us to successfully focus on an entire inventory sheet is like trying to teach a cat how to properly mix a track."
they always ended up completely abandoning the task midway through for the most nonsensical reasons imaginable; usually deteriorating into a three hour debate over whether they should organize the incoming arrivals by the specific emotional register of the lyrics, or drifting into some incredibly complex, entirely pointless philosophical argument if they'd shared a heavy hit in the alley before the shift started.
they slid the vinyl into a crisp brown paper sleeve, sealing the top with a sharp, clean snap of packing tape. "lunch," saffy repeated, testing the word. they looked down at the counter, their finger tracing a scratch in the old wood. "if you’re going to loulou's...get me that greasy spoon grilled cheese. the specific one where the white bread is basically submerged and fried in melted butter. and a black coffee. if I’m going to survive the afternoon shift without kick, i need enough caffeine to trigger a minor heart arrhythmia."
