"I was here," the reflection whispered, syncing perfectly with the track. "Waiting for the record to start over."
The city was a blur of neon and rain, but for Marc, everything felt like a skip on a scratched vinyl. He had spent the last three hours searching for a specific record store in the 11th Arrondissement—one that he swore existed yesterday, but today was just a brick wall. LOOP OU ETAIT TU zip
Inside, the DJ was a silhouette against a wall of static-heavy TV screens. Every few bars, the music would stutter, and a distorted voice would echo through the speakers: "I was here," the reflection whispered, syncing perfectly