text: “You really don’t want to buy this,” the teenage cashier of Jackpot’s Pawn said. “We looked into them; they weren’t any good. Just a Beetles wanna be band. They only ever got this record posted, not even sure how they pulled that off” he said. Bob glanced down at the vinyl, sliding his wrinkled fingers across the band’s name. Yellow and Blue, and odd name to be sure. “I think I do actually,” he said, pulling out his wallet and sliding out a crisp ten from it. He slid the money across the counter to the cashier but he didn’t take it. The teen sighed, glancing around nervously. “Listen, we’re really not supposed to do this, but ten bucks is way too much for that. If you really want it, just give me three and I’ll pay for the rest okay?” he said, pushing the money back to him, his antsy brown eyes finally meeting Bobs. Bob just smiled at him kindly. “That’s very kind of you, but I think I want to pay the full price,” he said. The kid sighed, taking the money, and typing something into the register. “Totals ten sixty-five,” he said. Ben went for his wallet, but the cashier already had slipped a dollar from his own. “I’ll let this place screw you over if you really want, but I’m not letting the government do it to” “Thank you, young man,” Ben said with the same kind smile as he held the record up. The cover art was faded, and even in the best of shape was clearly designed by someone who had little to no artistic talent. His smile widened, and he turned to leave the shop. “Have a nice day sir?” The cashier said, turning back to his computer. “Likewise,” Bob said as he pushed the door open. He walked to his bright red Chevrolet Corvair, its paint job looking brand new even though it was over half a decade old. He sat into the driver seat and gently laid the record next to him in the passenger seat. He slid the key into its slot and cranked it. The engine roared to life before calming to a soft purr. Even to this day, that sound made him smile. He pulled out of the parking lot, and into the road. The whole drive he drove five miles under the speed limit, the window down, and the radio off. He was the only one on the road, of course, so he could enjoy this simple pleasure without guilt. Finally, he reached his humble little home and pulled into the driveway which looked a little more homely now that a car was in it. For a moment longer Bob just sat in his car, enjoying the cool spring air. He picked up the vinyl careful to not bend or scratch it any further and walked inside. His armchair didn’t make a sound as he sat in it. It had none of the gadgets of a modern recliner, nor was at as fluffy as them. He found that most recliners looked uncomfortable, and depressing, and preferred a normal chair thank you very much. He admired the unsightly yellow and blue mesh that was the cover. He thought it looked good back in the day. Bob gently pulled the record from, careful not to smudge or scratch it, and placed it in the record player next to his chair. A scratchy sound emanated from the speaker as the record began to slowly spin. The scratchy sound faded, and his brother Bills' voice came through, singing a slow song. Moments later a younger version of Bob's voice joined Bills as the song sped up a little. And as their voices fell silent, the lovely voice of Lane Adams took their place. Bob closed his eyes and smiled as he was serenaded by her wonderful singing. She was good, too good to have any right to be singing with him and his brother. If she hadn’t insisted on sticking with his and his brothers little band she’d probably have made something of herself, but as the memory of her lips mouthing the words of their songs, and the way her blue eyes shone like glitter and confetti when she sang played before him, he found himself selfishly glad that his first love decided to stay with them.