|Dietre Henrich Abendroth (sonataind) wrote in repose,|
@ 2018-12-02 21:09:00
|Entry tags:||*log, dietre abendroth, holly nicodemo-webster|
Somewhere there was a Dietre with bright eyes and warm skin lightly kissed with freckles. Somewhere there was a Dietre with a smooth voice and a ready, sweet smile. This was not that Dietre. His resemblance to him was only as if someone had taken that other boy and locked him in a dark basement for many years, feeding him on stale bread and water until his skin faded to a cool ivory and shadows formed beneath his eyes like bruises painted in watercolor. All that vibrancy had been sucked away and ground to nothing beneath life’s cruel bootheel. This Dietre was tall and thin and swathed in black, and when he entered the record shop he kept his distance from other patrons, drifting slowly toward less popular, and less populated, sections of the store.
When he had first come to Repose this place had been closed. Though he had always been intrigued, he never seemed to get around to visiting after learning it finally opened. Now he had a good excuse to come. It was the Christmas season and he was in dire need of ideas of what to get his very small collection of friends. Music was important in his life, but he was a bit ashamed to admit that he did not know much about genres beyond classical.
Modern music was too much to tackle, so he wisely kept to the more ‘vintage’ side of what the record store had to offer. He flipped through a bin of old 45s, pulling out a single, ’If I Didn’t Care’ by The Ink Spots. He wondered how he might be able to listen to the song before committing himself to buying, though the fact that this was a conundrum people had to deal with back when the record was produced was not lost on him. How did they discover new music back then? He flipped the record over and peered thoughtfully down as he read the names of the writers and singers before looking around him with a lost sort of look on his face.