"Wait, so what year are you actually from?" Beverly asked, because sure, she heard bits and pieces here and there about John's background - but she thought it might be nice to get more. If he wanted to talk about it, but she was curious about what his life had been like. She was pretty sure most everyone in town knew about the brush with a killer clown her and her friends experienced; they'd all arrived traumatized, anyway, so it was hard not to notice.
The record player, paid for in cash by Beverly who had made sure to bring enough since when you went through the doors you never knew where you'd end up, was now hers. Or soon to be Richie's, but. She was certain he'd be over the moon about it. "Thank you," she said to John, taking the package and carrying it carefully - it was put into a Bloomingdale's bag, so she'd just bring this back through the doors. "I wish. We might have to shelve our fridge dreams. At least there's candy though, right?"