I love books, don't get me wrong. The smell of a fresh new book, the smooth feeling of a paperback novel and let's not forget, the sound of when you flip through the pages. Ugh, it gives me tingles.
As said, I love books more than I should, and I love the library, I mean it was just a collection of free books you could borrow constantly. It's fucking book heaven. However, when you're stuck in heaven with Satan and Hot Jesus, preferably that one from that show The Bible, scanning encyclopaedia after encyclopaedia, you started to became to become very unamused by the thought of a library. And you also forget how to spell the word 'encyclopaedia', but that's not the point.
"Do you even encyclopaedia, babe?"
I looked at Jackson confused, cocking my eyebrow and trying to not to laugh at his ridiculousness.
"Jackson... Just stop."
"But I'm hilarious, babydoll!"
"No, you're not."
"I should be a stand-up comedian..."
"How about no."
"I know what I want to do for the rest, I'm being a comedian."
"Actually it's Jackson, but I like the new nickname, babe."
Harold Washington Library had multiple stories, spattering with shelves of millions of book. Let me be honest, it looked like a really hot porn gif from Tumblr. With books.
I placed the last encyclopaedia in its rightful position before picking up my bag from the front desk and checked my phone.
No texts from Mom, no missed calls from Dad, no notification to meet up with Em or coffee with Char.
Peace and quiet for the whole weekend... College application time.
I've actually been dreading this moment, seeing as I have no idea what I want to do. When people say what I love doing, it's working at Frankie's and let's be honest, I don't want to be another Albert.
"Do you want to come over tonight?"
I looked at Jackson as he reached to place his last encyclopaedia away, his muscles flexing through his shirt. He looked at with a light smile on his face with one piece of hair falling down his face. He walked towards me as I looked up at his face, his faded freckles just showing in the dim light of the library.
"You know you left your Bugs Bunny boxer shorts on the floor of Frankie's..." Jackson whispered as I blushed.
My eyes widened as the blood rushed to my face. I'm sure I put them back in the bag, didn't I?
"Don't worry, I didn't tell anyone. Thank Charlie for the help."
Charlie Brand. Boxer shorts stealer since 1995.
"So, what I'm trying to say is, are you coming to Frank's house as you are or do you want to go home first?"
"Who said I was coming over?"
"Me. It's only a matter of time before Frank finds out your homeless secret. Let's go, babydoll."
I rolled my eyes as Jackson dragged me out of the library, speeding past Amelia and into his precious jeep.
"I'm not homeless by the way, I'm jus- No, we are not listening to that stupid song again!" I ejected Jackson's Motion City Soundtrack CD before he could debate as he start the car and sped through the Chicago lights.
YOU ARE READING
Six Months at Frankie's RecordsRandom
Uncle Frankie has done it all. He's been touched by Jim Morrison, gotten drunk with Billie Joe Armstrong and has opened the most well-known record store in America. I guess you could say he's sort of a Punk Rock god, well, at least according to Ains...