🎛️ The History of Synthwave: Neon Dreams and Retro Machines By Rife Vibes Music Therapy

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
The Brotherly love Band A Ginny Greaves short by Sarnia
de la Maree. It was ten past gen o'clock on
a Thursday, and I was two bills behind rent when
trouble swanned into my office in design, her heels and
a moral compass that pointed directly to the gutter. She
had diamonds on her ears, guilt in her eyes, and
the kind of pout that suggested she kiss too much

(00:21):
or too often, or probably both. You're Ginny Greeves, she said,
like she wasn't impressed, but was willing to pretend if
I solved the case. That's what the door says, unless
someone's replaced the lettering with ask me about my childhood trauma.
I leaned back in my chair and gestured to the
seat opposite. What's missing, sweetheart, husband, poodle, self respect. I

(00:45):
watched her hips as they tried to hypnotize me, but
I wasn't falling for this broad Those hips were a warning.
She sat, crossed her legs like a lethal weapon, lowered
her voice to a scandalous whisper. My ring my wedding
ring of five carrit vintage asher cut with a platinum
band and a tendency to reflect poor decisions. And I'm

(01:06):
guessing this poor decision had biceps and the finest member
in Brooklyn. When viewed through a Scotch glass, she winced
a surname matching my own. I looked confused. She noticed,
She looked at my hobnails, and looked confused again. Alister,
my husband's brother. It was a moment of weakness, a
spiritual lapse, a massage with benefits. I should never drink

(01:28):
at lunch time. Spare me the gospel, according to Chardonnay,
I said, stubbing out a cigarette I hadn't lit. Where
was the last known sighting of the matrimonial ice Alister's flat.
I think it slipped off during proceedings, slipped off, landing
gently on the bedclothes, or flung across the room in
a frenzy of Roman shame. She gave me the look

(01:51):
of a woman who had indeed flung, and not just
this one time. I need it back now, she said.
He's already asking why I'm wearing gloves indoors and the
rate double I raised an eyebrow, double rate, double speed.
I assume you're paying in cash and discretion. She tossed
a watt of notes on my desk like a woman
throwing booties at a baby shower. Find the ring before

(02:13):
Henry finds Alistair, I beg you. Alistair answered the door,
wearing a robe and holding a glass of moonshine that
was eighty percent proof and twenty percent hope. He lived
in a flat that screamed divorced and delusional, black leather couch,
mood lighting, mirrored ceiling, and a jacuzzie. Well, if it
isn't the famous miss Grieves, he said, smiling like a

(02:34):
man with far too many secrets and not enough throw pillows.
Cut the charm. Lover boy, I'm here on behalf of
your sister in law? Which one the one you defiled
during Tuesday brunch, he gestured me. In we may have
been a little enthusiastic. Things were flung garments, morals, possibly jewelry.

(02:54):
I surveyed the place like a truffle pig with boundary issues.
There glinting beneath the last coffee table, wedged between a
dog eared kamasutra and a coaster shaped like a pineapple,
I retrieved it with my pen. Five carrots of sexual curiosity,
still gleaming with the faint aura of doggie style. You're
lucky I'm not the judging type, I said, I'm lucky

(03:15):
you're not armed. I am, I muttered in several places.
I met the client at the usual place, the alley
behind a vegan cafe where good food goes to die.
She clutched the ring like it was a baby, and
she just remembered the custody hearing. Oh, thank god, she said,
you've saved me my marriage, possibly my villa in Tuscany.

(03:38):
I took the rest of my fee, lit a fresh
cigarette and watched her teeter off into the mist like
a Chanel scented war criminal. Back in my office, I
poured myself something brown and unforgiving, and added another file
to the cabinet marked infidelity and idiots. Some days you
chase down murderers, other days you fish wedding rings out
from under furniture that still smells of el old her flower,

(04:00):
lubricant and inherited trauma. But a win's a win, and
Jinny Grieve's private eye always gets her woman, unless, of course,
she's already married to some one else. Twenty twenty five.
Sarnia di Lamar Wadlamar dot com