A penny saved is a penny earned experience

Placing the record on the counter with a damp soft thud, his arrival was pronounced. Battered around the edges the scuffed package boy saw similarities with the recordings exterior and desire in the deep black black grooves. The title faced the elderly gentleman behind the counter who obliviously inspected some incomplete jigsaw. Penniless, excuses were offered and a promise was made to hold the item for five minutes to allow time to find funding in bank accounts invisible trove, with new directions received, paths were set to destination, seeing cash extracted from dispensers gutter mouth, with return tic’s shy of deadlines dead time.

Upon his return the crisp note was held proud, a saw thumb, hammer hit swung wildly needing air to repair, to allow business transactions, legal and smooth. The shop sat empty, save for the clerk now found inspecting some foreign camera device, lost obsolete to times developing taste, he peered up down around inside outside up down around, gently probing and inspecting it’s fragile, forgotten form. Moments became minutes, feeling like hours to the waiting soon to be customer, this silent wait lasted for a good three minutes with presence not acknowledged feeling queer and unsettling. The crisp note still erected flew a flag in silent stillroom. Finishing with the camera the fellow placed it down with parents care. “Yes, can I help you?” like it was the first time eyes met paths crossed. Extending the £10, the clerk’s eyes could be seen to fill with terror arms raising palms facing forward, “Oh, no that just won’t do! Do you have anything smaller” without a hint of humour. “No, I can’t help, you’ll have to break that someplace else, the greengrocer on the corner should help you, go see him”. Bewildered the delayed customer stumbled about his business.

As minutes passed he returned with jingling steps, the empty shop still empty, silent and still. Each stride matched the other pound for pound as limber legs navigated scenery, moving must, man manoeuvring, piles of one mans junk and heaps of another mans treasure. The small change was excavated and presented hard, heads up on the stained faux wooden counter, in a kind of caricatured manner. But before the shop clerk could collect the fare, the customer swooped in and retrieved his coins, exclaiming “actually, I’ve changed my mind, thank you any way, good day”. Bewildered the clerk stared expressionless.

Heading for the door, again, terrain navigated, a blemish on clocks diminishing face, a you’ll never guess what happened to me today for both to spin later to those who would wait whilst account was relayed.