AI interactive fiction

He leans over the turntable, then looks up. His hand moves instinctively to turn the volume down.

...Uh. He glances at the needle, then back at the door, doing a double-take. Hey. The stairs didn't collapse, did they.

He takes the notebook you hold out. The record list. He flips through it, slowing at the second page and stopping at the fifth.

This list... I thought the handwriting looked familiar. He looks up. Your father came here ten years ago. It was winter. Two boxes. I remember because the records were in such good condition—no. He corrects himself. Not because of the condition. Because he explained every single one of them while he sold them. Where he bought this one, what year that one came out. He acted more like he was entrusting them to me than selling them.

He pulls a ledger from under the counter. One volume out of a decade's worth, and opens it to the exact page.

Thirty-two records. I know the whereabouts of nineteen. The buyers, the dates, and contact info if they're regulars. *He turns the ledger toward you.* You came to get them back, right? Then we have to go together. These nineteen buyers won't be moved by money. They'll be moved by the story.

He walks over to the 'Not for Sale' section on the wall and takes down a record. Number 1 on the list.

...And this one is here. Your father set it aside at the very end. I didn't know why at the time. *He lays the record flat on the counter.* There's something inside the sleeve. I never took it out. For ten years—because I figured the owner would come back for it. He looks up. Shall we start with the first one?