If he needed to he could sell his record collection for a pretty pound.
He had all the classics. All the ones that were gone. The antiques that they were, though still sounding beautiful in their quality.
He liked how the record player sounded.
It made everything sound real.
Music nowadays was fake.
It was too pristine..
Too finely tuned…
Too perfect to be real….
Real things had flaws.
They sounded out of tune and warbled sometimes.
He wanted real and genuine.
Her song.
Her favorite song that her mother didn't know. But he did. He'd been playing it over and over for the past three weeks.
When she'd "visit" him he'd play it. He knew he had the record when it came out all those years ago.
He liked the singer.
It was a fun song.
Just like her.
Always up beat and joyful.
That was what she was.
She was joy.
She was annoyingly,
blastedly,
infuriating
joy.
"Did you know happiness is contagious?" she asked.
"No."
"Yes you did. And I bet you know why too."
He would rib her and ask, "Then why have I never caught it from you?"
"You have! On occasion…"
She smiled her bursting smile and just stared at him until he would roll his eyes and give her a fake strained smile which would make her laugh even more so. Until an actual genuine grin came from him.
"Tell me," she persisted.
"Tell you what?"
"Tell me the ridiculous reason why happiness is contagious."
"What do you mean?"
"In that head of yours is some useless factual information about whatever it is were talking about. Spill."
He waited a moment until she pushed on his shoulder.
"It's the oxytocin. The molecules are transferred in the air from person to person. It's rather disturbing if you ask me."
"Well, I didn't ask you about that."
And she smiled until he knew her cheeks hurt.
Damnably beautiful.