Blinking, as if trying to clear some sort of fog, you watched Keith from the other side of the room. "Keith," you called, walking towards him, "what is that." You pointed to the device in his hands. Keith took his headphones off.
"Remember Walkmans?" he said, turning the small device over in his hands.
"Walkmans?" you repeated. "Like from the '80s? The original '80s? As in 1980s?"
"Yes...," Keith replied, eyeing you carefully. "Is there something wrong with that?"
"Uh, no...," you started. "It's just that I think the '80s will get mad for stealing their style; first the mullet, now this." You shook your head. "Tsk, tsk. At least you could've taken your style from a good era; like the '40s! I'd love to see you in a nice suit and suspenders." Keith's face turned bright red when you winked at him.
"Shut up! There's nothing wrong with my 'style.'" Keith's grip on his Walkman tightened as he squirmed in embarrassment.
"How about I find you a fanny pack to go with your outfit? Maybe some leg warmers?" You snickered.
"Sh-shut up!" Keith stuttered, his face darkening.
"Or-or maybe some parachute pants," you gasped, holding your sides as laughter shook your body. Keith stood up, his face still burning. He had heard enough. Storming out of the room, he left you alone.
"Wait, wait," you called, running after him, your eyes beginning to water. "I was gonna say I can pop your collar for you but you've already got that one down! Keith! Come on!"
