///AYKSTAHSEE///

Still buzzing from what seemed to me like a job interview that concluded with silent astounding cheers from imaginary businessfolk telling me "You got it! You got the job!" I turned my windshield wipers on to do their shitty job of clearing away the rare but welcomed L.A. rain drops. I headed toward the opposite end of Sunset Boulevard, always accelerating too fast when red turned to green and skidding as a result. No one is used to the rain here, the triply slow traffic was a tell tale sign. Beside my fifteen dollar handbag that I got at an H&M sale when my mother visited last year, was a small paper bag I'd stuffed in double speed before leaving the house that afternoon. In it was a midget pile of CDs I no longer cared for and some that I don't think I ever cared for. That morning I fully envisioned going into Amoeba, the music head at the counter accepting all of my CDs with a smile, and handing me enough money to buy at least four veggie plates at Merkato. That moment was just a two-second-graffiti-elevator-ride away. In front of me in line was a Japanese couple, grandparent age, clad in soft, pastel colored pullovers. They were selling what looked like every single vinyl they had ever collected over their seventy year life span. A giant part of me wanted to dig through them all, but I reminded myself of why I was there: bills stole all my money, and I was hungry. My turn came, and the music head from my morning's imagining materialized before me in the form of a tall white dude with brown, reasonably trimmed facial hair. It was obvious he had just gotten off break because a Jack in the Box wrapper was being smashed between his hand and the counter. While finishing chewing his last bite, he asked me how I was and motioned for me to come forward. With my buzz still high, I told him the absolute truth, "Excellent." He started going through my CDs, sorting them into piles I couldn't quite figure out. One case he opened had a burnt CD in it, he smirked and put it aside without saying anything. When I glanced down to see what it was, my reflex to grab it was so instant I had to laugh for a good ten seconds; five out of embarrassment and five out of amusement. There it was, an artifact of my once insane past. Creative since fo'evah, of course I had blessed this musical summary of my life-once-lived with my very own album art: pills, shrooms, and lightning bolts. GODDD, I thought to myself, I don't even want to think about what's on this CD because I know the first track is probably by ATB and it's probably called Ecstasy. My inner monologue shut up when homeboy hit me with, "Ok, so you've got $16 store credit or $12 cash." My buzz from earlier melted and wept a little. I took my golden CD and the equivalent of one and a half veggie plates and headed home.