“It’s a radio, get over it.” Esme hissed affectionately, crafting a cloud of breath in her palms. “It’s not just a radio.” It gave me nostalgia- somehow. She exaggerated a scoff, shoving me into a shoe-shaped hedge. When I caught up to her, I had a head full of green, and I knew she would laugh about it for the rest of the week.

Now, I sat propped up against my royal blue, buttoned headboard, fidgeting with my radio’s parts. Two knobs stood still on its left panel, five equally spaced stewed-cherry buttons sat on the right, and they begged to be pressed.

The most interesting thing that I saw in my radio, was the shimmer it gave when I tilted it to its left side no more than fifty degrees. It’s scarlet body writhed under lamp light, and I couldn’t place its rarity. That’s why I had bought it for $73.43 on the day of Esme’s birthday outing, although she’d advised me against it.