Lewis had always found himself deeply connected to video cassettes, even more so, than to his own parents.

The only logical action to take as a result of his love, was to open up a VHS store with the heritage he received from his late father’s passing, as soon as he got out of high school.

Although Lewis was saddened by the news of his kin’s death, he could not help but feel giddy on his feet at the prospect of finally being able to realize his dream. If he had known sooner that his father has planned to leave him this much from the get go, Lewis would not have taken such great care of his parent. He would have waited, and perhaps even encouraged, the disease that ultimately took his life.

It was in the year 2004—a good while after Lewis had set up his rental store—that everything took a turn for the worst.

It started with a day where nasty rains washed over the small town Lewis had decided to make his permanent home; he knew from the day he had seen it filmed on his very first VHS copy, that this was where he would live once he was freed from the curse of being a minor, for the rest of his life.

Lewis awoke fifty-nine minutes before his alarm clock rang. His studio apartment was still coated in shades of lilac-blue, as shadows of raindrops were casted onto the white wall that accommodated for his little kitchenette, and the modest, pale tacky clothes-rack he had gotten at a discount from the previous owner of Lewis’s now-home.

As the young man poured himself a bowl of cereal, he soon realised he was missing his usual milk carton. He remembered then, that he had forgotten to buy more on his way home yesterday. He figured he would try something new. He poured water atop the plain, wheat-tinted food bits that tasted terrible against his tongue once he bit into them; Lewis finished them anyway.

He walked to work and complained under his breath to the chilling winds about the weather. There was something disgusting about the scent of it. He could not help but be reminded of dead things found in forests—leaves, dried flowers, people who had drank a little too much and ended up on the wrong side of the graduation party they’d just left.

When Lewis stopped at a red light, two girls were giggling by his right. “Do you think I should go?”

“I don’t know, but he sure is cute! I mean, come on, what’s the worst that could happen?”

Lewis had seen enough movies in his lifetime to know where such conversations would eventually lead the young woman, should she attend, what he supposed, was a first date.

Life was not a movie, however, nor was it fiction; Lewis would not comment on the matter. He would come to move on with his life and forget about the young woman forever, as he crossed the road beneath the round, observing eye that had just blinked into neon-green atop his tired figure, before he finally arrived at his store; the only place he truly felt fond emotions for.

Yet, he could not help but notice, that today, something was different.

At the foot of a transparent door that revealed a collection of thousands, and thousands of tapes that each contained their own little worlds, was a letter.

Lewis opened it.

He did not remember most of what he immediately considered to be a personal attack on his own person. All he knew was that his pulse was beating loudly in his ears, his throat had tightened to a point where if someone had said he was choking, Lewis would have believed it.

There were four months left before his beloved town would close down his store, in order to build something they deemed Better, and More Modern. And, despite the hefty monetary compensation offered, Lewis found himself speechless for the first time in many years.

“It would never be enough,” he muttered, under his breath, as he eventually entered the empty store.

It was true, that he had been making less sales lately since technology had advanced. But nothing could replace cassettes. They were truly unique, beautiful, and, despite having access to them, Lewis was never able to make the switch between cassettes and more modern forms of entertainment.

Gaming consoles. DVDs. Online videos of cats playing with babies. They were too easy to access. There was no satisfaction in having instant rewards. Lewis liked winding back his movies. Listening to the sweet sound of the rich brown tape within it returning to the start like his very own, hand-held time machine. Where was the charm in simply pressing on a button at any given time, and being shown exactly what one wanted, right away?

Lewis had four months left. As he got behind his cash register, took a seat on the bright red stool that gave him a view on the small, cubical television screen beneath his desk, he wondered about how he would get out of this.

Before he could think any further, the golden bell that watched over the store’s entrance rang. Lewis’s favourite customer appeared.

The young man smirked. Perhaps, Lewis thought, he would be the answer.