For el prompt

http://www.furaffinity.net/journal/642251/

Of the picture, here:

http://d.furaffinity.net/art/field/....._good_grip.jpg

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Duroc never knew why he bought a record or a CD. Sometimes, he’d heard the song on the radio. Other times, the cover of the CD was cool, other times, the CD itself had no reason to be tried, it was a person he did not know, but it was amazing. Music was his world when everything else wasn’t working. Lately he was on a 90’s music kick, listening to Stone Temple Pilots and The Goo Goo Dolls. Next week was open; he didn’t feel like revisiting anything. It was time to find something drastically different.
The corner record store was his favorite. CD’s were cheaper elsewhere but the corner store had the weird stuff. It smelled strongly of incense, as it doubled as a head shop and questionable slack jawed sleepy eyed fellows would wander in to replace a broken pipe or score a sweet hitter, or to grab some detox drink before that big job interview. T-shirts hung in the ceiling, and it was dark and cozy, and if someone wanted they could rob them blind, but the old long haired guy named Jack was too nice and laid back. Duroc wondered if he even made money on the place.
Jack, like him, was a boar pig, except jack had managed to grow long hair that covered his ears, and a goatee that he sometimes had braided, sometimes not. Over the years, Jack and Duroc had become sort of friends. Duroc would patronize the store, and Jack would tell him what was good and what was bad. Duroc’s goal, always, was to find something Jack didn’t know what it was. Even if it was a wrapped record buried in the back room that the label was half torn off, Jack at least knew who the artist was or what genre it was.
All day at work, he watched the rain from the windows and thought of what he’d dig up next. He decided this time; he was going with something old. Something so obscure, that this time, Jack would be dumbfounded. Today was all paperwork; the rain had stopped any progress on the jobsite today. He filled out sheet after sheet, always drifting back out into the rain, and wishing he could hear it and see if he could pick out a song.
Finally, the distinct aroma of incense reached his nose, and he stepped into the store. A slow and wandering exotic tune played, and it took Duroc a moment to hazard a guess at what it was. As the door shut behind him, he played on the idea that it was Middle Eastern; due to the sitar that plucked it’s away above the drone of some other strange instrument.
“Duroc! What is the good word my man?” Jack asked, as Duroc approached the counter. Jacks feet were up on the glass and he was scribbling in a notebook, but Duroc couldn’t tell if he was drawing or writing. His hair was over his eyes and the goatee was buried into his chest, as if he hadn’t looked up. His shiny wet nose twitched slightly as he wrote.
“I’ve come for something different. Real different.”
Jack scribbled on for awhile, and then stopped. “Well, tell you what. I am going to start putting those records on EBay soon. They have come up in value. So help yourself to them before they are all gone.”
“Dang. What's the sudden occasion for getting rid of them?”
“Well, the kids nowadays that come in here don’t want them. Only a couple of people buy them and they are choosy as hell.”
“I am choosy as hell.” Duroc said, smiling. “Thanks, I’ll take a look.”
He went to the back of the store and began to sort through the records. He picked out three of them that looked interesting. He loved the cover art on records. CD’s were too small to really get any attention. The big flat surface of a record was an opportunity for art and creativity beyond what most CD’s would ever hope to have. Duroc’s hooved fingers danced through the records, searching for one that might really catch his eye as being unique, like the others.
“If you want to get creative, there are some boxes of records under the racks.”
He sat down on the floor, and began to go through them. They were all used, and old as sin, some of them dirty or water damaged, or worn like old books. He picked out a couple more, not impressed with the selection, really. He pushed be boxes back under, and drew out another box. This box was new, and tight. It didn’t smell like old people or a basement or an attic. In fact it was sealed, and quite heavy. It felt like it did hold records. He popped out his pocket knife out and slit the tape. Inside were maybe 50 of the same record, shiny and new in the cellophane. On the front, there was a small wide eyed frog, clinging to bricks; the back was solid black with track names on it. The name of the album, apparently, was “Before It Was Concrete.”
It was more than strange enough to make him take it to the counter.
“How are all these, Jack? You know them?” Duroc had said it much the same for years now. Jack dropped everything and began to look at the records.
“Good… Good… All right… Great… Mediocre…. Not seen this one. Hmm. Probably crap.”
“What?”
“This one with the frog.”
“What about it.”
“Never seen it or heard it in my life.”
“You’re serious? I suppose the box was sealed…”
“Oh was it? Huh.”
“Well, I’ll take these.”
“Buck each for the used ones. That’s five bucks.”
“What about this new one?” Duroc asked.
“That’s garbage.”
He shook his head and looked at it closely. “I want it though. I don’t care if it’s blank. It’s cool.” Duroc narrowed his eyes. “You said you’d never seen it.”
“Oh I think I know this artist. He’s a toolbag. I can’t believe he put out another album.”
“Well, there are like a hundred more back there. If this one sucks, I’ll bring it back. I swear. We can burn the whole box.”
“I won’t let you buy it.” Jack made a fist; like he was going to pound the counter or force feed it to Duroc.
Duroc, frowning, reached into his pocket and pulled out a $20 bill, and threw it on the counter, picked up his records and walked towards the door. He heard Jack sigh.
“See ya next week, kid, if we all make it that long.”
Duroc drove home, slightly irritated by the argument, but also very intrigued by Jack’s reaction to this record. Normally, the records would be wrapped in a brown paper bag that smelled joyfully of the little store. Instead, all he had were the records on the seat next to him.
Back at home, all the peasantries of living with a good woman and many dogs and cats distracted him form it for a few hours. After dinner and giving a couple cats their medicine, he remembered the record. It took but a moment to open it and toss the cellophane away. He’d not ever had the pleasure of opening a new record before. It smelled kind of sharp, like chemicals, but good ones. The paper sleeve inside containing the record slid out easily, and was immaculate. It was covered in writing, unlike the cover. But he was eager to hear it, so the record dropped on the turntable. With a click, the table began to spin. It was also beautifully flat, and had not a scratch on it. It would play perfectly.
He bent down to peer at the paper sleeve. On it, above all the other mumbo jumbo, were three lines. Written By: Jack A Brightner. Produced By: Jack A Brightner and Performed By: Jack A Brightner. As the needle landed softly on the edge of the edge of the vinyl with a soft thump from the speakers, Duroc sat slowly on the couch next to a cat.
He grinned a bit, as the first notes began to play. Jack Brightner owned a little record store downtown.


With an extended appearance of the cool swine Duroc

 duroc