It was 7:15 a.m. when I walked into the dusty record store, Sacramento CDs, on June 6th. I had started the job almost three months ago, and I was starting to fall into a pattern of going through the motions, like clockwork.
Little did I know that day was different. Little did I know that you would walk through the wooden door, setting off the small bell on top of it soon after I had.
The tiny but efficient alarm alerted me from behind the cash register that a customer had just entered the small, charming shop. At the time, I had no idea just how special that costumer was. I took out my headphones to look like I was actually concentrating on my work, so instead of listening to my outdated iPod shuffle I was now listening to your shuffling footsteps and the choppy music coming from the intercom. I glanced to see if you needed my help, and gave a broad smile to your tentative one.
"Oh, this song is nice." You had commented, nodding to the ceiling. I know you probably meant well, but I have heard that small talk starter a thousand times; we always had a song playing. It was as common as "nice weather". But nevertheless, I nodded and agreed with you- it was Paramores' song 'The Only Exception'.
After heading to the back of the shop, you came back to the counter with two albums, and asked me to choose one- I chose Florence + the Machine over Mumford and Sons.
That was the first day we met, and I had impulsively scribbled my number and a smiley face on your receipt. I don't remember why I did it, but I think it was something about your smile, the way it didn't just reach your eyes, but it shined through them. I still have the flimsy, shiny paper from when you returned it to me on our first date, when you told me you didn't need it because you already had it memorized.
But that's another story, another lyric in our song.