City of Angels

fine dining

Sophie picks up a chocolate stuffed pastry and holds it between her teeth, searching for her wallet amongst her overturned room.
She desperately hopes that Nikki and his idiotic friends haven't stolen anything of hers.
She uncovers her $1,500 purse and clutches it tight, thankful. All her credit cards are stashed inside it, not to mention her favourite lipstick.

Sophie had woken up and decided it was time to explore the city, perhaps grab some food.
She throws on a pair of flared blue jeans and a white shirt, wearing a long brown coat to keep herself warm in the early hours of the day.
Since she'll be walking, stilettos aren't her shoe of choice. Instead, she opts for thick heeled pumps.
She takes one last look around the apartment and scrunches her nose in distaste. She flips the 'do not disturb' sign on the door to 'housekeeping welcome' but locks it behind her, just to make sure no filthy boys sneak in. Then she ventures down to the lobby, polishing off the last of her pastry and pushes open the glass doors, soaking in the sunlight of a new day.
Tall buildings scrape the skies, but not quite as tall as the New York towers Sophie is used to.
The air is crisp and fresh, unlike downtown L.A., which is another story entirely.

Sophie struts down the side walks, people drawn her way like a magnet. They assume she must be important, admire the way she carries herself with pride. She peers into the various boutiques and shops, deciding from the window whether they are worth her time going inside. But it isn't a clothing store that catches her attention next, it is a record store.
The dusty look of the place without the glaring lights and shiny decorations almost has a flaming effect on her. 
It is the opposite of her natural element.
Sophie listens to music often, but her father always preferred live performances rather than records. He liked to watch classical ensembles from the front row. He always said it was far more enriching.

Sophie is open minded when it comes to music.
Whatever feels good, feels good.
And it never hurts to introduce herself to new things. Sophie steps into the shop, a bell tinkling overhead as she enters. She smiles at the woman behind the counter and ventures into the first aisle.
Shelves upon shelves are cluttered with records, all sitting proudly, colours clashing.
They are organised in order of genre, stacks upon stacks. Sophie runs her fingertips along them, pausing occasionally to inspect an album.
Her favourite artists are scattered through the shop, some hidden from view. But she manages to locate a few, just to admire the artwork on the front.

"Did you need a hand with anything or are you just browsing for the moment?" The woman leans against the cluttered counter, pushing a dyed red fringe out of her eyes.
"No, thank you," Sophie replies.
"Alright, let me know," the woman turns to a basket of records and begins sorting through them. Sophie's gaze lingers on a delicate tattoo and wraps around her bicep and forearm.
Sophie had thought about getting a tattoo but never found anything significant enough to permanently ink onto her skin. She moves on, sweeping through the racks, unsure what she's looking for.
"Actually, sorry. I may need a hand."
The girl manning the shop nods and makes her way over, revealing a delightfully 70's flair for fashion.
"How can I help you?"
"I want to know what everyone's buying. What's popular, who sells the most."
"Goodness, there are a few," the shopkeeper laughs, tucking a red lock behind her ear.
Chunky purple earrings swing as she browses the records, Sophie following close behind.