He knew there was a Kinks song that would match the mood perfectly. But he couldn’t remember which one. So he pulled the records out and read the sleeves. He set the first one down on the turntable, dropping the needle in each groove for a few seconds.
“It’s not that big a deal,” she said, as he flipped to the B side.
“I know. I know,” he said, shrugging. “You don’t ever get that? Like an itch you can’t quite reach. You don’t stop trying to scratch it, do you?”
“No, I guess not.”
“It’ll be perfect. Eventually. Promise.”