Vincent's dressed equally heavily - a child of Oregon, she's always convinced that the weather will turn in just a second, particularly when she's not looking. Today she wandered away from her usual routine to find this spot - Vault Records.
She's looking to replace her copy of London Calling because she misses it, and she scoots past the 'Just In!' section to see it sitting on the rack, as if this were the 80s and people actually cared about The Clash.
There's a boy there, and she squeezes next to him, reaching for the CD to make sure it's not some strange release that neglected to put 'Guns of Brixton' on it or something equally bizarre. Vincent doesn't put that sort of thing past the entertainment industry these days.
She can hear the music on the boys earbuds, tinny and loud, and she looks at him for a long moment as if to memorize his face. How is he not deaf? It takes her another moment to realize she's staring because he's an attractive young man, and Vincent is still not quite used to the social conventions of looking away right away. Her eyes flick away after a moment, and she holds London Calling in both hands.