He reluctantly puts the stack back into a rumpled paper bag and stalks out the door. Thombo finally faces the fact that I’m standing firmly between him and his next fix and I’m not budging. “And what do I tell the guy when he comes around looking for the CDs you stole from him and he asks me what you look like and where you live?” I furtively glance out the front window, looking for Laz. All’s I need is a twenty.” He slides the pile back toward me like a poker player going all in. “Bob isn’t here and you know he’d have kicked your ass out of here already.” “Yeah? Yesterday you said it was your mom who was sick, and by the way, I saw your sister this morning and she looked fine.” I pull up the sagging waist of my skinny jeans and stand up straighter. He’s flipping through the Bs in the used-CD section. I steal a glance at my friend out in the bins. “Yeah? So, when did you start listening to Whitesnake and the Grateful Dead?” I ask, looking into his bloodshot eyes. This stuff is good, it’s all good.” He twitches and scratches his skinny arm. “This is the same tired pile of crap you brought in yesterday.” I slide the stack of CDs across the counter toward him. He was an okay kid back then but he fell through the cracks and emerged as “Thombo,” someone you definitely shouldn’t turn your back on. I remember when Thombo was “Thomas.” It wasn’t that long ago. I follow him with my eyes and reluctantly bring my focus back to the pile of CDs sitting in the middle of the scratched-up blue countertop between Thombo and me like an island no one wants to claim. Our eyes meet and he nods and offers up a half smile. It’s my fourth sighting this week but who’s keeping track? He calmly takes in the standoff at the buy counter before carrying on to the bins. I don’t even have to look up but I can’t help myself.
Vinyl Princess, she is most certainly the Queen.
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