Why was Dex even here? He sometimes wondered but it never really stopped him from proceeding to spend his money at his musical haven. Honesty? Dexter barely had two nickels to rub together and that was partially because he spent all of his money on contraband substances and keyboards. Not that he had many but it was music and drugs, that seemed to be what his life consisted of. Oh and pissing people off seemed to work just well enough for him. One thing that was apparent however was that Dexter's vinyl collection was more extensive than his living quarters most of the time. So it was no surprise that he was browsing shelves at that moment. With a carefree swagger he proceeded to flip through the records, making a mental checklist of what he already had and the things he was semi-interested in purchasing but probably wouldn't bother with. He usually never got more than one or two on any given trip. What the fuck was the point in getting more than that? It's not as if he could listen to them all in one day anyway. But he knew he always needed to have them. On those lazy days he'd lay around, preferably in sunshine but in the musty backroom of a seedy club was fine as well, and then he'd light up and get lost in a world of guitar riffs, deadly drum solos and psychedelic sounds. They often enhanced any experience he was expecting to have, or hoping to have. He never really was satisfied with it though. Who really cared anyway?

At the moment he was in need of a little The Kinks replacement and as he picked up the record a minuscule, somewhat lopsided and all together unattractive smirk spread across his lips. It only took one moment later to have that pleasure come crashing to the ground. The bell above the shops door shook rather violently and the annoying chiming assaulted his ears as he looked to see who'd invaded his silence. Good god this would be miserable.