“It’s a shame to part with this, Leo, but allowing it to collect dust in my study is truly putting it to waste. Hopefully our sale can attract the attention of somebody willing to give it a good home…”
“Hey. You selling the record player?”
“On cue! Hello Virgil, are you interested?”
“Yeah. Mine’s been acting up for a while, and repairs aren’t working. I could buy a new one but, eh. You can’t match classic models.”
“You always were a fan of music, weren’t you? Well, if this were to be in anyone’s hands, I’d feel comfortable knowing it was yours. There are also some records for sale, but I'm not sure if they'd appeal to your taste. As I recall you prefer more... hm... let's say melancholic arrangements?"
“Depends. Let’s see… Uh. Hold on. What the hell is ‘Billy Beam and his Cowboy Polka?’"
“Excuse me?
“‘The Twelfth Street Low Fliers Club’? ‘Ziggy Squirrel and the Nutso Gang’? ‘The Rutabega Twist and Other Not-Quite Hits?’”
“I... promise you those were not mine, they must have come with the player. If you keep searching you’ll find some classical recordings and prolific jazz and-”
“No, I want these ones.”
“Really? You… Why on earth would you of all people want them?”
“Vontell, have you ever heard of a thing called irony?”
“What a question. Of course I have, I’m an author.”
“Weird, obscure novelty records that haven’t seen the sun in decades. Weird passion projects that even the people that created it don’t remember. This is an undiscovered treasure. I need to know what’s on these, right now. How much?”
“Virgil you really are an enigma, aren’t you?”