Chris takes me to the city centre and parks his car in an alley that he considers safe, safe from some smartass who might be tempted by this collector’s vehicle. As we move away, he keeps turning around to glance at it, without letting go of my hand. He gives the impression of abandoning his child at the edge of a highway!
It’s curious to go along the sidewalk at his side, my fingers mingled with his like a normal couple. I don’t know why I find it odd. Suddenly, he stops to stare at a shop sign. I imitate him. It’s an old record store. In the days of MP3, where even CDs are an endangered species, the presence of such a*****e in the most modern part of the city seems a little off-topic.
“What do you say we go in?” he offers with the smile of a kid who wants to take a ride on the ghost tr
