Naomi holds a 7-inch vinyl single flat between both hands, and her feminine polydactyl hand meets the near rim with six fingers braced evenly along the edge, each one natural in taper and nail shape, the sixth sitting in the grip as plainly as the others. Her medium golden-brown skin, the mixed Japanese and African heritage in her features, and her compact wiry frame read clearly at this distance; her thick black coils, cropped short and pushed back, crown the upper edge of the frame. Her other hand steadies the far rim, gripping only the outside, the record tilting slightly toward the lens and held perfectly still. Three mismatched rings ride across her fingers and a woven bracelet gone grey with wear loops one wrist. Her faded band tee shows beneath an unbuttoned corduroy shirt, cuffs rolled twice, the whole of it her record-shop thrift style. She stands in a narrow aisle of a secondhand shop, crates of sleeves packed tight on either side, handwritten dividers jutting up between them, a strip of worn lino running underfoot an hour before closing. Shot on a Fujifilm FinePix J10 compact, close-up on the record and hands from a low vantage angled up, 32mm equivalent slightly zoomed, soft low-contrast rendering crushing the detail out of the sleeve spines, shallow depth collapsing the crates behind into pale blocks. Overhead shop tubes serve as key, a dull sheen skating gently across the vinyl surface with no hard shadow anywhere, colour running flat and yellowed, visible sensor noise sitting across every surface.