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He was rummaging the dusty and worn down racks, pausing on an interesting phrase or name. If the disc looked in decent shape he would pop it into the player and listen for a few seconds, before shaking his head and throwing it back. Every disc suffered some slight damage-- the only CD he had ever come across that didn't sound scratchy or skip in certain parts had been a disc by a man or group named Beck. Giggle began to notice a pattern in the music- they seemed to be filed by certain categories. The categories housed nonsense verbs like blues or rock, and the discs filed there all sounded reminiscent of each other.
The coyote picked up a disc with a faded gold color. Approximately the same time he heard something behind him, and turned to see a white wolf. His instinctive reaction was to tense up and he gripped the CD to his chest, before realizing the other canine seemed to bare no ill will. In fact, he had been asked a question. About his music? Yes, that. 'Ah!' he muttered, his eyes flashing in the way they did when he was supposed to smile. 'Yeah, I do, though I'm sort of a minority. They're called, uh, CD's.' He liked the way 'cee-dee' rolled off his tongue. However, the Inferni member didn't know what it stood for. Giggle glanced at the gold-covered square in his hands and placed it back on the shelf before turning to face the wolf. 'They're a human thing. Somehow they recorded music on them, and they play it back when you put 'em in this thing.' He produced the CD player from his bag to show the white wolf, watching him with noted interest.