The Little Red Box

"I've lost all my crazy," she said, leaning back against the cool headboard of her bed.

"Nah," he said, "you've got plenty. You're alright." He nodded to her vinyl collection all cool and breezy. "Which ones are important?"

She smiled and her crazed mind subsided and she was normal again. She scrambled over the bed with no clothes on till she fell down next to him, cocooning herself in the covers on the floor. "These ones."

She pulled over the little red box. It was empty once, but now it was heavy with things that meant something.

He had a rifle through and nodded again with a smile. "Pretty good collection you've got."

It was more than pretty good, but she didn't tell him that. She delved into the box and slipped a record smoothly from it's sleeve and placed it gently into place. The crackling sound filled the room and she felt her body awaken.

She turned to him, all urges and enthusiasm. He was handsome, but so was everyone these days. His hair fell all over his face, and he swept it away with one hand while the other removed a cigarette from his lips. The smoke billowed out and up. She gestured that she'd like a toke and he put the cigarette straight to her lips. His hand lingered there, close to her, and she wondered briefly if it was possible to excite something passionate in a person this breezy and controlled.

The thought passed.