Stepping into a record store can be the second hardest thing to do when you are nursing a broken heart. Number one hardest thing to do when you are a sad lonely fuck in a record store is having to endure its repertoire of love songs while browsing. Every bloody wail, tortured notes and wrangled lyrics just stabs your heart over and over and over again.
I practically attained Level 10 of The Ultimate But Long Forgotten Art of Total Self-Control just standing there. Being whipped by spiked ropes continuously on the fresh raw wounds. It was invisible blood on the record store floor.