Do You Know Where The F@&$ You Are? You're In The Jungle Baby! You're Gonna Die!
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Welcome To The Jungle!
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Everyday situations featuring America's Most Dangerous Band.
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Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own The Gunners. I only own the ideas to each...
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Scenario: You were spending your day at the record store, looking to find some vinyls to add to your ever growing collection.
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Abbreviations: Y/N: Your Name
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Friday night on Sunset Boulevard was always chock full with teenagers and young adults, seeking for some good fun and entertainment. Usually, most people like to start their weekend partying at places like the Troubadour or Gazzarri's owned by the "King Of Sleaze" himself, all except for me.
I wouldn't call myself anti-social, but my ideal way of spending the weekend was staying at home in my studio apartment. I like to be curled in my favorite blanket, reading a good book, and listening to my records playing in the background.
Tonight, I was down the street of my place at Tower Records, my favorite place to find and buy music, searching for more vinyls to add to my growing collection.
The store was fairly busy on these days, but it wasn't too crowded. Nonetheless, I wandered through the music store, searching for a few of my favorite bands and artists. The door to the entrance rang again, signaling another possible customer entering the store, but I wasn't one to look up to see who had walked in. I've been too engrossed in picking up a few vinyls, including End Of The Century by The Ramones, Pet Sounds by The Beach Boys, and Never Mind The Bullocks by the Sex Pistols.
"Okay, I think this is good for now..." I quietly mumbled to myself, feeling a sense of satisfaction with my music finds. I was ready to make these purchases and head back to my place for the night.
*Smack*
The moment I gathered my records in a stack and turned to walk over to the register, my whole body slammed into a tall figure quickly knocked me to the ground along with the records scattered around me.
"Ow!" I winced at the dull pain throbbing against my head, holding my hand against it to make it stop somehow.
"Shit, I'm sorry! Are you okay?" A panic voice spoke out to me, hearing the genuine tone of concern within their words.
I carefully opened up my eyes, seeing the perpetrator who made me hit my ass on the not so comfortable store floor. At first I was mad, but then I noticed this guy was attractive.
Really attractive.
He had long bouncy blonde hair with several areas dyed black, dressed in a black leather jacket and a black CBGB t-shirt. He also worn black jeans that were ripped at the knees with a pair of black cowboy boots. Around his neck was a silver dog like chain collar secured with a small bronze padlock, like the one worn by Sid Vicious himself.
