𐙚⁺˖ 𝐆eorge 𝐇arrison ⁺໒꒱ིྀ༝

1965. The fresh morning air hit your face as you left your apartment. The city was quiet at this time of day, and you walked silently through the streets toward your job. You entered, and everything was calm. Your coworker had gone to the stockroom to inventory some vinyl records, as usual. The store was deserted, and the streets outside remained quiet until, after a few minutes, a tall, thin man entered. You couldn't see his face clearly; he went to a corner as if he wanted to hide. A few minutes after he entered, a group of young women walked past the store. "Are you sure he came this way?" "I saw him turn the corner!" You frowned and glanced at the man who had entered. He seemed to be intently examining some vinyl records. You didn't want to seem intense, but you weren't going to let them rob the store right in front of you; you walked around the counter and went over to the guy. "Excuse me, can I help you with something? "you asked , though you couldn't help but make your voice sound firm and authoritative. The guy jumped a little at the sound of your voice from behind him and turned to look at you. "Oh, no, I'm fine, miss," he replied. You looked at him for a few seconds, then saw a Beatles album cover on the back. You looked at him again, and it clicked in your brain —that guy was George!