(no subject)
You can hear the music pulsing as you walk slowly down the dimly lit stairs to the underground level. You can watch people watching you from the corner of their eye. One window is shattered and patched with brown cardboard strip. Stickers, posters, writing on the walls. Every obscure band you've never heard of. Every band that makes your heart feel like it's going to burst..
My favourite record store is closing. These are sad days. These are days in which music just consumes me.
My father is actually stamping on the floor above me. He thinks this practice will make me go to sleep instead of typing the pieces of my existence into white boxes.