A kick-step leaves a hop in a my walk, creating the illusion of me being a happy camper. In the middle of taking out the trash, I had noticed a large bucket being thrown out from the room that still says Studio B on the door. Something in me told me to check it out and see what I can find in here. I'd gone against my better judgement by doing so. I know that if anybody had found out that I'd be thrown out at a moments instance. This place isn't like any other job that I've worked. I've never been a janitor before and I've never been in an established facility such as this. They say the man who built this building was so stubborn to the point that he went through six, seven architects during the process of creating this place. Rumor has it; he eventually gave up on them and drew the blueprints himself. Hmph, he must've really been a piece of work.
Considering that my blinkee got ruined, I'm desperate for any kind of entertainment I can hear in a moment like this. Apple needs to get a better warranty for those things. It's not my fault that somebody parked their car on top of it. Imagine if cars were still driving around on roads like the old days, it would've been trashed the moment I dropped it considering how busy the skies were this morning. With curiosity taking its natural-born course, I reach into the bin. It's two o'clock in the morning... nobody is even here at the moment. I can't get caught if nobody is here.
Awe takes over my internal gut as I stare back down at what my hand retrieves. It's a– a, uhm... what are these called? Aren't they runmen? Wait. No, jogmen– walkmen! It's a walkman. I only see these kinds of things when my grandmother watches those Family Matters reruns. You know what that means, don't you? These have got to be probably fifty, sixty-years-old. I click a couple of buttons until it suddenly opens. Trust me, I've played with one of these enough times to know that you put this square thingy into the the other majig and then, you close it. "Uhn huh," I hum to myself at the success of my own leadership. "And then..." I look back into the bin in search of those earmuff, headband looking things. Once I find a pair, I'm pretty sure you click it into this hole.
Look, spending time with your grandmother pays off.
Placing the device's noise-transferrer on my head, I click the giant triangle button. If I've been taught correctly—though, I'm sure I have— this is the button to start the song. Listen to me! Buttons! Buttons are sooooo 2024.
A pop goes off and static is heard. As the static lowers, a tenor voice is heard speaking. I sit still as my awe spreads deeper into my soul, I am amazed. Nothing is seriously happening, the voice is simply nagging at whoever Bobby is for missing whatever count in he had missed. The voice seems to be so captivating, I'd never heard anything like it before. His articulation of words is what really pulls me. He sounds like he's the person in charge of whatever is going on. I stare off into space allowing his voice to send a cold chill down my spine.
"Pretty cool, huh?"
A voice calls out. I'm slightly startled but as I take note of a blurred jumpsuit, that looks identical to mine, in my peripheral sight, my nerves are quickly calmed. "It's amazing," I sigh feeling myself be swoon by the music.
"I know, it's mine. Put it back." My neck jerks backward, I ignore the figure standing beside me. Who the hell does he think he is? "Seriously, now." His tone is quite intimidating for a moment but I play it cool. The same kind of chills the mystery man on the device had given me, this stranger gives me—of course the motivation behind the chills happen to be polar opposites that contradict the other. I drop the walkmen and look up at him with a complete attitude. "Oh, please! Don't give me that look, you probably don't even know what it's called. You just saw your grandfather playing with it and picked up on what it does."
