Blowing the dust off the last cardboard box, misshapen and crumpled along the bottom edges, ThisCharmingMan looks down the length of the small rectangular store, dimly lit and in dire need of dusting.

"Third time lucky, I guess." The tired old man mutters under his breath, apathetic to the greying five o'clock shadow forming along his jawline.

This would be the third time the avid record collector had unpacked his wares, the third time in a new town and the third time he would be wearing his heart on his sleeve, in the hopes that there would be folk just as passionate as he in this new, terrifying place.

He chuckles to himself, as he slots Miles Davis' Kind Of Blue behind the 'Jazz' genre card.

What did it matter if he couldn't find passionate musicians? He just needed some customers! All these moves were definitely starting to hurt the bottom line, and if he had to get rid of the store...well, it wasn't worth thinking about. He was well liked in certain circles, but that didn't mean he was untouchable, and "they" still needed their cut...

He puts the lid of the black marker pen in his mouth, the nicotine craving was starting to kick in. He writes in all capitals, hoping this would grab the attention of passers-by.

CEMETRY GATES RECORD STORE

! STORE OPENING SALE !

! ALL LPs 85 CENTS !

! 3 FOR $2.50 !

! 5 FOR $4 !

! ROCK 'N ROLL, POP, BLUES, JAZZ !

! IF WE AINT GOT IT, IT AINT WORTH LISTENING TO !

He takes the pen lid from his mouth, slightly inhaling to remove any saliva left over, and clicks it back onto the marker. Rolling the large piece of parchment paper up and tucking it under his arm, ThisCharmingMan grabs the Sellotape dispenser and makes his way to the front of the store, floorboards creaking underfoot.

At the front window, he unrolls the sale sign slightly, holds it against the finger-smudged window and carefully runs a line of Sellotape along the top edge. He rolls the rest out and does the same across the bottom. 'That'll do.' He thinks to himself.

He moves over to the front door and checks the spherical brass handle, making sure it was unlocked. ThisCharmingMan pierces his lips as he flips over the shop sign, the word 'Closed' now facing inwards.

"I'm getting too old for this..." He sighs, as he turns around starting towards the back of the store again and reaching into his pocket for that well-deserved pack of smokes.

Justice had known for some time of his right hands plan to open up the record shop. He had always been an avid collector, and would go on a rampage if Justice ever dared to open up one of his precious wax discs. He didn't get it. Why get so uppity about it, he could just buy him another. But ThisCharmingMan kept going on about first editions and special runs. Whatever. It kept him away now and then so Justice could get some alone time. 

Having stood outside the shop very stealthily (not max stealthily though, but close), Justice watched as ThisCharmingMan sucked on a marker pen rather seductively. He made sure to get every last drop of saliva off. Maybe Justice would need some more of that alone time now. Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the shop, hearing the door bell ring to announce his arrival. 

How's business ThisCharmingMan? Oh I'm your first customer? Well I better make a purchase then! What can you recommend to me?

Justice awaited the encyclopaedic knowledge of music that he knew was about to spew forth. 

ThisCharmingMan, only just reaching the make-shift counter at the back of the store, swung around in surprise.

'I literally just opened up shop...' he thought to himself, suspicious yet curious of who it could be.

Any trace of optimism started leaving his thoughts as he saw the bulky mass standing at the front of the store. The weak bulbs that hung from the ceiling, with their visible wires torn and frayed, could produce no detail in the figure's countenance, but there was only one person that he knew of that could make your stomach turn even under a flattering glow.

His fear was confirmed when he heard the whiny, sarcastic twang produced from the vocal tract of this wretched creature. It was the boss.

Justice was definitely one of 'those guys' that liked to one up you. And his questioning definitely had that tone. Anything ThisCharmingMan tried to recommend would just be shot down in an instant for some obscure, pompous reason. Better to play it safe.

"Good to see ya, boss." he began. Trying his hardest to feign the light greeting. "Ooh that's a tough one. Y'see there's a lot of great records out there, but not everything's for everyone. But I always say don't turn ya nose up at somethin' before you listen to it once. I tell ya what, take a look around, you see anything that looks interestin', its on the house.'

Its fine, he thought to himself, anything he picks would have probably ended up in the bin anyway.

Perusing the wares, Justice was struck by just how many records there were. Far too many to look through in one visit. Or two. And two was his limit. He couldn't be shown to be too friendly with ThisCharmingMan, people might get the wrong idea. Rifling through the boxes, Justice decided to let fate take the wheel when it came to choosing one. Running his fingers up and down the spines, he closed his eyes. Having previously been a mystic tarot card reader, he tapped into his latent spiritual power, and called upon the spirits to guide him. He heard them calling towards one record, and so he picked it up out of the box. Turning it over, he read the cover. 

Woodland Sounds Vol 2. - A Revised and Revisited Trip to Tranquillity. 

Holy fucking shit he had hit the jackpot, this was exactly what he had been looking for. He could play this to drown out the drone of lawyers constantly arguing in front of him about petty things like who murdered who. It would evoke a trip through his mind palace to a spot of calm. He had to have it. 

Alright ThisCharmingMan, I'm taking this one. Can you have a look and let me know if there's a Vol 3? Or even more? I'll buy them all if you can find them.

Justice turned to leave the shop, but not before noticing ThisCharmingMan sucking on his pen again. 

Typical, of course Justice would pick ThisCharmingMan's favourite record in the whole world. There was no way he'd get any sleep now.

He watched desperately as the boss headed out the door with the only thing that gave him any peace in this God forsaken world.

Oh well, he'd have to give that freaky shit a go - the genre he carried that always attracted the weirdos. It was good money though, that 'type' always seemed to be rolling in cash.

He knelt down behind the counter and grabbed a white record box that he hadn't bothered putting out front. He heaved the surprisingly heavy container onto the counter and blew off the dust that had settled on top. He tugged at the cardboard tabs, coughing as even more dust was unsettled by the force.

He picked a record at random, it didn't matter. It had been a long day and he didn't have time to sift through this array of queer recordings, he needed sleep and this would have to do.

He folded the lid of the box back over haphazardly and placed it back on the floor, shoving it under the counter with his foot and walking away, leaving the genre of vinyls clearly visible... 'ASMR'...

Barney stumbled across the Cemetry Gates Record Store and was quite intrigued. It was getting quite tiresome playing the guitar at all of these birthday parties. He wondered if he could simply dance along with some pre-recorded music. The kids were usually too young to even notice or remember anyways. He opened the door and waltzed in. The sight of ThisCharmingMan brought a smile to his face.

"ThisCharmingMan! A pleasure to see you. I didn't realize this was your shop. Oh me? I'm looking for some sing-a-long tunes. Something for the children of Detroit. Got anything like that here? I would pay handsomely to improve the show."

Sara twists the brass handle and steps inside the shop. Cemetry Gates had a sale sign posted in the window, one stating that all records were available for $.85. It certainly seemed like a good deal, one she'd surely take advantage of if she found what she was looking for.

Up one aisle, halfway down the next, and she found it. Bach's Sonata No. 1 in G minor, one copy left. Sara grabbed it with both hands and made her way to the register like an excited child.

"Last one, lucky me!" She smiled as she pulled out a dollar and handed it over to the older fellow. Little did she know that the record was there likely by mistake, and it was the only copy the store had, or would ever have. Pleased nonetheless, she accepted her vinyl and went back out into the dreary Detroit dusk. She was halfway down the block, half-heartedly (and quite fruitlessly) trying to hail a cab when she suddenly stopped. 

Did MaddixCruz even own a phonograph? 

"Cemetry Gates" an interesting choice for the name of a store, Maddix definitely approved. The store owner not only went all out on the name, they also went all out on the store window sign with read, in all capitals,

ALL LPs 85 CENTS 

3 FOR $2.50 

5 FOR $4 

ROCK 'N ROLL, POP, BLUES, JAZZ 

And then bodly stated at the bottom of the sign...

"IF WE AINT GOT IT, IT AINT WORTH LISTENING TO"

Maddix oddly enough didn't own a phonograph/record player, unless you counted Elliot, who made all sorts of different noises, which to Maddix could classify as "music", just a very loud, screamed filled piece that certainly was an acquired taste. 

Taking another sip of the bottle of peach wine he had recently bought, Maddix was going to resume walking, seeing no point in going inside, when he noticed SaraMoore walk out of the store with something in her hands, she seemed somewhat amused, while holding whatever she had with great care while quite fruitlessly trying to hail a cab.

Mind suddenly made up, Maddix decided to follow and see what was up.

Well...what a busy couple of weeks it had been. 2 whole customers! And one weirdo that just stared at the sale sign for 5 minutes!

ThisCharmingMan was glad he was able to help his friend Barney out with that compilation album. It was titled 'Songs That'll Make Your Children Scream - Vol. 1', but he was pretty sure that was a misprint.

He was also relieved to have finally got rid of that bootlegged copy of Bach's Sonata No. 1 in G minor he'd made himself. A side-venture that he'd dabbled in a few months ago but quickly realised the cheap vinyl he'd been sold would spontaneously combust after 2 or 3 plays. SaraMoore was so quick to handover the money and get out the door, she didn't seem to notice that the picture of Bach on the sleeve was just a poor hand drawing. Never mind, he thought. Who's going to look twice at another building burning down in New York.

Harvey was a little bit excited to find a record store in Detroit. He had a huge collection in his office, and was always on the look out for a classic to add to the collection. He started rifling through the displays, searching for a decent find, carefully checking the sleeves and the discs inside for imperfections and to ensure that they were genuine first prints. Slowly he started to build up a nice collection.

Moanin’ in the Moonlight by Howlin' Wolf on the Chess Records Pressing.

Bo Diddley/Go Bo Diddley by Bo Diddley on the Chess Records Pressing.

The Shape of Jazz to Come by Ornette Coleman on the Atlantic Records Pressing.

Mingus Ah Um by Charles Mingus on the Columbia Pressing.

King of the Delta Blues Singers by Robert Johnston, Original 78 pressing.

Elvis Presley by Elvis Presley on the RCA Pressing.

Lady in Satin by Billie Holiday on the Columbia Pressing.

In the Wee Small Hours by Frank Sinatra on the Capitol pressing.

Here’s Little Richard by Little Ricard on the Speciality Pressing

Kind of Blue by Miles Davis on the Columbia pressing.

Before he knew it, Harvey had spent several hours in the small store, pouring over albums. Picking up the sacred 10 he'd selected, he carried them carefully to the counter.

"I'll take these if you don't mind."

Sara stormed into Cemetry Gates, her face still red and her charred pants outfit still smoking in some places. 

"Look here, guy, I've got a bone to pick with you over a record that spontaneously combusted, damn thing took down an entire cafe' over in New York, I at least think I deserve my $.85 back, you- hello??" 

Silence. The place was empty, but not just that. Abandoned, not a soul in sight. Confused, Sara stomped around the counter and poked keys until the register popped open with a ding. Still full of money!

"Hello?" Maybe the fella was seeing a man about a horse. Sara loitered in the aisles for twenty minutes, but no one showed. She went back to the register, recouped her $.85, then started to walk out. At the last moment, she spun on her heel and grabbed several jazz and blues albums, stuffed a fiver into the register, then left, going out of her way to carefully lock the door behind her. 

SilentAssassin and a few of his bodyguards walked in to a bell ringing "Hello? anyone here?" he looks around seeing dust all over the shelves and albums,. "damn looks like no one has been here in months if not longer"  "well guys lets help ourselves to some music"

An hour later SA and his bgs loaded 10 boxes of assorted records,emptied the cash register and left.