On Sundays, when everything about the city was slow, Greg wouldn't bother to even open up the car wash, instead taking the opportunity to sleep until noon, soft rock music coming from his little portable radio, his face covered by yesterday's newspaper, usually right at the comics section.

His eyes opening on a closeup of the Saturday edition of Jutt and Meff, he heard the faint noise of Mayor Dewey's vehicle screaming down the street as it went on its daily drive. Deciding that was his alarm, he sat up, stretching his back, feeling his bones pop satisfactorily. Scratching at his scruffy beard, he looked out the window of his van, seeing the late morning sun perched over the ocean slightly.

Once he'd gone through his morning routine, he opened up the rear door to his van to wait for Steven to come visit him. Once he opened the door however, a small note that had been taped onto it fell off, and he picked it up to read it.

'Hey Dad,

The Gems are taking me out today, so I'll see you later tonight! We can have a water fight then!

-Steven :) '

Folding the note into his pocket, Greg sighed, and sat on the rim of the van, wondering if it was worth it to open up the wash today. Sundays were usually his 'spend-time-with-Steven' days, and when he wasn't around, it just felt even slower than before. That usually wasn't a problem except that right now, Greg had nothing else to do. He already did spring cleaning, he didn't have anyone coming around for guitar lessons, and he was out of sketchbook paper, so he couldn't do any drawings for album covers!

Deciding he could walk into town to see what was going on, Greg slipped on his sandals, and walked towards town.

Just as he was passing the pizza shop, he caught glimpse of an unusual sight; the stock boy from the donut shop heaving a considerably large stack of vinyl records a few feet forward before putting them down, and rushing behind him to fetch a second tall stack, struggling to lift them.

Curious, Greg walked over cautiously, watching as the teen heaved audibly as he lifted the stack of vinyls, shuffling forward to catch up with the other stack on the ground.

"Uh...hey there!", Greg spoke up cheerfully, trying to get his attention.

Lars looked up when he was addressed, and caught sight of Steven's father, and gave a blank, uninterested look, "Oh. You."

"So uh...whatcha doin' there?", Greg smiled.

"Nothin'," Lars rolled his eyes, bending over to lift the second stack forward again, gritting his teeth as he curled his fingers under the bottoms of the stack, and lifted them with an audible "Whoof!"

"You...need any help there?", Greg eyed the unattended other stack.

"No!", Lars wheezed, "I...got this!", and staggered forward. Just as he reached the corner of the boardwalk, his knees buckled, and he fell, spilling a few items off his stack. His voice muffled against the floor of the boardwalk, "Please."

"Sure thing," Greg smiled, lifting the second stack of records with ease and walked forward to meet up with where Lars was slumped, "What's up with all these records you're carrying?", he asked with a friendly tone.

"Takin' em to the pawn shop," Lars groaned, slowly getting himself up to a kneeling position.

Greg curiously leafed through the first few records on one of the stacks, and his eyes lit up, "Holy moly, you've got some nice picks in here. Why'd you ever think to sell these?"

Lars groaned, "My folks say that if I want to go to culinary school out of state, I have to pay for half of it myself, and with how I'm hardly getting chicken feed at my job now, I figure any option is a good option."

Giving an understanding hum and a nod, Greg hauled the stack a bit further, "Where's the pawn shop again?"

"Like...another ten blocks," Lars wheezed as he lifted the vinyls, and began forward.

Greg offered warmly, "Why don't I take you over there in my van before you throw your back out or something?"

Lars was about to sourly decline, but then felt the stings of newly formed calluses on his hands, and winced, giving a nod, "Yeah. Let's do that."

Taking a few minutes to grab his van, Greg drove by the corner, and helped Lars lift the records into the trunk, and once he had street directions for the pawn shop, began to drive.

Lars sat in the passenger seat, arms crossed as he looked out the window with disinterest, only glancing occasionally at the van's dashboard, seeing miscellaneous CDs scattered about, and a few odds and ends littering the front console.

"So where'd you manage to collect all those records from?", Greg asked with genuine curiosity.

Lars chewed a thumbnail, "Sadie and I go dumpster diving sometimes on our days off. Or we crash rummage sales, and I guess a bunch of old people really like records. I buy the ones I like."

"Old people?", Greg teased.

"Yeah, people like you-," Lars' voice died away as Greg gave a visibly offended look, and the teen was worried he just lost his ride from being too snarky.

Greg immediately broke the angry face to laugh, "Just yanking your chain!", then smiled, "Yeah, just from scanning, a lot of those are ones I grew up listening to. I'd swap some with Vidalia every couple months, she'd have Joni Mitchell, I'd have Pat Benetar, she'd have The Runaways, I'd have Electric Light Orchestra-"

"Wait, you know Vidalia?", Lars looked at Greg incredulously.

"Oh yeah!", Greg smiled, "We were buddies way before any of you kids were even born. She would collect records all the time. You know her?"

"D'uh yeah, she's like, super cool!", Lars rolled his eyes, "She lets Sour Cream blast his DJ music at 3 AM, and she paints naked people."

Greg snorted, giving a laugh, "Yeah. She does that," then glanced back at the stack of records, "So any of those records by a...Mr. Universe?"

Lars glanced at him, raising an eyebrow, "You're asking me if I have any of your music?," then gave a thoughtful expression, "I don't think so. Steven gave me your CD once though. What happened to your hair?"

"What happened to your hair?", Greg teased, "I haven't seen your look since the 80s!"

Lars snorted, "It's a cool look," and fluffed his orange curls proudly.

Greg gave a small laugh, and turned the corner, "So culinary school huh? You like to cook?"

"Yeah...I guess," Lars mumbled, face red.

"Before I got into the music business, I was a short order cook at a couple diners to raise money for a new guitar. My folks were those 'pull yourself up by the bootstraps' kind of people."

"Oh yeah?", Lars glanced at him, "Mine are, 'pull yourself up by the bootstraps, but you have to actually get boots first' kind of people."

"Ah that's always the toughest," Greg admitted, "My aunt and uncle secretly helped me raise a bit more money, so I ended up getting that guitar in half the time I'd expected. Ended up meeting my manager about a year later, and before you know it, I'm a rock star."

"Was a rock star," Lars corrected smugly.

"Hey, I can always hope for a comeback," Greg smiled with a good nature.

After a bit more of a drive, Greg parked in front of the pawn shop, helping Lars carry everything in. Glancing around, Greg saw the prices listed for everything, noticing how they all seemed a bit higher than he would have guessed. Lars didn't seem to even be paying attention to them, absentminded with his thoughts of how much money he could make with his amazing haul of records, grinning excitably.

Plopping his stack of vinyls on the front counter, Lars slapped the service bell impatiently, grinning as the owner, a balding middle aged man, came out, looking unenthused, "Yeah?"

"I'd like to sell these records!", Lars grinned.

"Uhhh-huh," the owner muttered, leafing through the stack, mumbling under his breath, then looked up at Lars, "I can give you...eh...twenty dollars for the whole two stacks"

"What?", Greg looked shocked at the under pricing, and was almost insulted by how cheap the owner was.

"Great!", Lars grinned, unaware of how stunned Greg was, and was ready to rake in whatever cash he was given. Twenty dollars, in comparison to the minimum wage he earned at work seemed like a good amount for the records that he'd bought for a few dollars each at various yard sales.

Smelling so much of a rat, that it was suffocating, Greg immediately stepped forward, "Oh no. Sale's off."

Lars looked at Greg with disbelief, giving a small screech when Greg lifted up one of the stacks, and hauled it outside.

Displeased, the pawn shop owner walked out of sight, much to Lars' dismay. Frozen in spot, still flabbergasted, Lars could only spout gibberish as Greg walked back in to haul out the other stack of records to his van.

Lars rushed out to follow Greg, looking furious, "Hey! Man, what the heck was that for? I was gonna get so much money from it! Are you nuts?"

"Are you?", Greg looked at him straight in the eye, and Lars shrank back, "Half of those albums you have are worth forty or fifty dollars each, and he was going to buy them off of you for less than fifty cents! Did you even check to see how much these things were worth?"

"W-well no I just-"

"That's the first thing you do before you do anything at a sleazy pawn shop like that! Did you see the prices the guy was selling stuff for? A couple hundred an album at least. He was ripping you off!", Greg threw his hands up.

Lars glanced in the window of the pawn shop, his face warm with embarrassment, catching glimpses of some overpriced junk. Ouch.

"This is years worth of collecting, and it was about to get whisked away for only twenty dollars," Greg mused, sounding almost frustrated, leafing through all the albums. It would have been insulting to see these beauties get conned out of Lars' hands for pocket change.

Shuffling his feet, looking at the ground, Lars bit the inside of his cheek. He felt so stupid.

"I...I didn't know-I didn't know they cost that much..." he weakly mumbled, bringing his eyes to look at the albums he'd collected and admittedly enjoyed when he took the time to listen to them.

Greg sighed, "Look, it's not like you knew, you're still a kid. Take it from me, you have to watch yourself when you make deals with people, be it managers, agents, or even people buying from you. They don't always have your best interest at heart."

He knew that far too well.

"Yeah," Lars mumbled with flushed cheeks, just feeling even stupider for not thinking about that, "...thanks."

"Sure thing," Greg smiled re-assuredly, patting Lars on the shoulder, and picked up one of the albums, "This is one I haven't seen in ages! And this one-! This one's a live concert!"

"I-Is that a good thing?", Lars asked, rubbing his arm sheepishly.

"You bet it is!", Greg grinned, "People love these kinds of albums!"

Lars gave an awkward smile, "Oh...good..."

Greg then got an idea, "Hey, there's an old friend of mine in Charm City who owns a music shop. Not like this old shack here, but a good up and running music shop. He buys at the price these albums deserve, he respects this music, you know? Steven and I go there all the time on weekends. His shop's open up until late night, do you have a couple hours to kill?"

"Y-yeah, but, really? You sure you wanna do that?", Lars rubbed the back of his head.

"Why not?" Greg smiled, "Besides! Judging by your taste in music, you'll probably like the CDs I've got in the van. And you'll come back home a lot richer."

"...Steven's not hiding in the back seat of that van is he?", Lars glanced around, looking shifty.

Greg laughed, "I think we'd have seen him by now if he was."

"Aight, cool, start driving then," Lars grinned, back to his 'too cool to care' persona, "The sooner I have money, the sooner I can learn how to trick people into thinking a can of tomato soup is gourmet."

"So even after almost getting conned today...you have intent to con people yourself?", Greg raised an eyebrow, snickering.

"You bet," Lars grinned, shoving one of Greg's mixes into the CD player as they drove off, keeping one of the vinyls tucked under his arm to thank Mr. Universe with later.