Living off of a dime a day.
I'm broke as fuck.

I live in a dumpy old apartment on the outskirts of Las Vegas.
It's a sketchy area. Drug addicts everywhere. Prostitutes on every street corner.

All I own is that small, rat infested apartment, a small mattress, a small amount of food, and a record player. I still don't know why I own a record player, I don't own any records myself. But who knows, maybe one day I'll actually have some.

Maybe I'll move out of this apartment and start a new life. With a family. A house. A car. A cat. Yeah, cats are rad. Maybe I'll own more than one cat. Maybe I'll own ten. That sounds more like it.

At the moment, I don't even own a cellphone, so that doesn't help me at all when I'm trying to find a better paying job.

They'll ask, "What's my number to contact you on if you do land the job?"

I've gotten so used to saying, "I-uh, actually don't own a phone, or any electronics. I do live in an apartment though, so you can mail me a letter if you choose to pick me."

And then they give me their disapproving faces. Giving me the negative vibe of, "Why the hell don't you own a phone or computer? It's the 21st century."

I'm sorry that I'm not a rich prick like you. I'm sorry I don't have any family left to help me. I'm sorry that my father didn't care enough to sign me in his will for his small amount of extra money once he passed. I'm sorry my mother left me and doesn't care about me anymore.

Nobody cares about me.

❋❋❋

It's a warm summer morning. The sun is out, the trees are swaying, the dust drifting in the dry wind. It feels nice.

I walk out of the apartment complex, passing beggars, prostitutes, and men willing to suck dick for cocaine.

I'm tempted by his offer, but that man seemed sketchy.

My feet scrape the cracking asphalt as I make my way down the sidewalk. Where am I going?
I don't know.
All I know is that I want to be anywhere but here.

I walk probably five miles down the same sidewalk until I find a small strip mall. Again, it's quite shady, but everything in Las Vegas is shady as fuck.

The strip mall has a few stores in it, along with a Mexican restaurant on the side. Their mascot is a dancing cactus, seems quite stereotypical. Not all Mexicans are dancing cacti.

On the far left side of the strip mall is a pole dancing studio. Maybe I could land a job as a stripper?
I've got the legs to do it.
Men would fawn over me.
I chuckle to myself.
I may drop by that place some time.

Next to the small studio is a quiet record store, named "B's Records". I'll hit that place first. Hopefully they'll have some cheap, or maybe even free records so I can actually use my untouched record player.

To the right of the store is a shoe store. I glance at my old worn down shoes, two year old black Converse.
I conclude I'll drop by there after the record store to buy some new, and cheap, kicks.

I walk across the small parking lot, I pass a couple dusty cars, but the lot is mostly empty. It's a Monday morning, so it makes sense. The black asphalt is burning my lungs with its toxic smell radiating off the ground from the sun. It must be fresh.

My hand grabs the door handle to the dusty shop. A small pair of bells ring from the opening of the door. The store smells of old vinyls and dust, it's sort of comforting.

I'm suddenly greeted by a shocked face from behind the counter.

A young boy with dark, almost black, brown hair, teased up at the top of his head. His bangs sweeping over his pale forehead, and his overgrown sideburns passing his jawline.

He has his Converse covered feet kicked up onto the top of the check-out counter. He looks up from his book in his hands, looks like he's reading something about a heart race, maybe something about a mouse? I can't make out the title all that well in the dim lighting.

His eyes are wide, similar to a deer in headlights, staring at my face. He must not be used to customers coming in early on Mondays.

"Um, uh, hi. I'm Brendon, if you need anything please, uh, let me know. I-I'll just be, um, sitting right here. Yeah, right here." His big-ass lips stretch out into a nervous smile. Normally I find stuttering super annoying, but somehow, I find that it fits him and is sort of cute.

"Um, thanks man." I answer back while walking slowly to the back of the store, my target set on the section labelled as "CLEARANCE" in big bold letters.

My fingers graze the album names and artists until I find one that grabs my attention.
Billy Joel: Greatest Hits Volumes 1&2
I quickly pull the plastic sealed record out of the shelf and look over it carefully to find a price.

"$20" the orange sticker read. I sigh, I don't have that much money to waste in miscellaneous items.

"Sir," I call up to the counter, waving my hand, motioning him to come to me.

"Um, yeah?" His posture is awkward when he stands, but he has a nice body. He's around 5'9, a bit shorter than me. He's got a nice booty, I didn't get to see it when I walked in because he was sitting down. He has a nicely built frame, small waist, strong arms and upper torso. His band t-shirt clings tightly to his defined abs. He's distracting me.

"Um-I-uh," I get lost in his eyes when I make contact, causing me to completely forget what I beckoned him over for.

Brendon looks down at the floor, smiling awkwardly, almost with a smirk, mumbling something along the lines of, "Look who's stuttering now."

I snap out of it and look back down at the thin record, tracing the grooves through the plastic. "I was wondering if I could buy this for any cheaper? You see, I'm living off of very little money and I own a record player but no-" he cuts me off with a light laugh. He's walking away from me, why is he walking away from me?

He turns back towards me, cocking his eyebrow, inviting me with him.

He circles the front counter and kneels down out of sight. I bend over the counter to try and spot him, and I find him on his knees pulling a box full of records out.

"Pick and choose, kid." He motions his hands over the box of dusty records.

"I'm pretty sure I'm older than you." I point out. I'm like, 22, I think, and he looks much younger than 22.

"I'm 21. But if you're gonna be an asshole about it then I guess I'll just put these babies back into storage." He pulls the box back down before I grab his wrist.

"No, please don't." I practically beg him.

I pull the box back onto the counter, searching for a couple good artists. Dust collecting on my finger tips.

"Y'know, you can just take the whole box if you want." Brendon points out leisurely, as if this box of memories means nothing to him.

"B-but, there's like 50 records in here, all worth easily $20 each." I say, dumbfounded.

"Take it, it's just a box filled with unwanted lyrics. You seem like you'd appreciate them more than I do currently." He smiles at the ground, slightly blushing. He finally looks up, "Take a look around the store, if there are any other records you may want, just tell me, I'll help you out." I shoot him a huge smile, one of those smiles you can feel in your eyes. I run to the back of the store once again like a young boy running to the candy store.

But then I hear a voice from the front, "I, uh, never got your name. What do you call yourself?" Brendon asks a little flirtatiously.

"I'm Ryan, Ryan Ross. But my full real name is George Ryan Ross III, but George is a weird name, and I don't want to take the name of my father who didn't give a shit about me. So just call me Ryan." I conclude from the back of the store.

My eyes swim to the front of the store to find Brendon writing something down, probably bills or something. His, mine now, box of records on top of the counter. He puts the small piece of paper into the box of records. I'm confused, but I go back to skimming the clearance records to try and find the Billy Joel record again. I finally see the black record and pull it out, memorizing the grooves and album artwork.

I walk to the front of the shop once again to try and bargain with Brendon, if not then I just won't buy the Billy Joel record and I'll keep his box of records.

"Any possible way to buy this for any cheaper?" I ask, my voice filled with insecurity.

"Take it, for free. On the house." He smiles, he has a beautiful face I realize again.

"Why are you being so nice to me? We've just met." I ask, arching my eyebrow.

"I don't know, but you'll find out when you get home and look through the box of records." He answers, walking out of the square counter space, smiling a sly grin. He disappears to the back room and doesn't come back.

"Could you at least tell me what the 'surprise' is, mister?" I yell playfully to the back room. I walk to the back where Brendon is looking at some of the clearance records, still smiling slyly.

I stand there next to him, my chest a few inches from his shoulder, face still looking down at the records with false fascination. I take his chin, guide it towards me with my pointer finger. Our eyes meet, his eyes a soft and inviting chocolate brown. He smiles, his eyes break contact with mine, eyes staring at my lips, then jolt back up to my eyes.

"Thank you." I manage to whisper before his lips crash into mine. I can feel that he is tense since he is standing on his tiptoes to have our lips meet each other. His lips are soft, like a giant pillow. He's applying a small amount of pressure, it's a very soft, but loving kiss. Then our lips part.

"You'll find out once you get home." He says, smiling, then walking away once again.

He left me feeling high off life.

"I love you." I mumble to myself. I start to walk past the counter.

"I love you too," he answers softly as I walk by, out the door.