The cool kids of the future find themselves perusing Discmen and casette players in this week's Concept Art Writing Prompt. Do you have a story about tomorrow's retro fetishists? Post it right here.

This piece by Sergi Brosa is titled "The Retro of Tomorrow," and is currently one of deviantART's featured digital art pieces. As always, we invite you to write a story based on this image and post it in the comments.


Here's my story:

Abi melted in front of a blanket in the last row. The day had been a bust. Some asshole from Fremont had tried to sell us a minidisc player, swore it was genuine 1998, but when we pinged it with Abi's tuning hammer, it came back Grade A neoplasticyne. I'd screamed a fit, threatened to report him to the licensing board, but Abi said it wasn't worth it. His cousin or aunt or whatever would just be back next week with a fresh license and the same fake shit.

The merch was a girl about our age, a glowing star fixed to her cheek. She wasn't in millennial dress, but sometimes that was a good sign. And it's not like Abi's haunch-bearing loincloth was period authentic.

"What you got that's pre-iPod?" Abi asked the star-faced girl.

The girl rocked to her feet as an artificial hand telescoped from her wrist. She pulled back a stained Ghostbusters sheet, a faint smile dancing on her lips.

"Fuckballs," Abi breathed. "Is that real?"

The star-faced girl was grinning now. "Nineteen hundred and ninety-six," she said, "year of Our Lord." She nodded at the tuning hammer in Abi's hand. "Go ahead," she said. "Ping it."

We listened to the light tap of hammer, and Abi paused before checking the hammer's display. "Case is the real deal." She turned to me. She wasn't smiling yet, but I knew that shimmer in her eyes. "Can you imagine what we'd get for a boom box."

"If it's real," I said. But I'd already pulled an image from my live feed and surreptitiously posted it to our Scoutsy shop. I pointed a toe at the case. "Those radio stickers," I said. "WBRU and KGGO, those are from different sides of the Mississippi."

The star-faced girl shrugged. "I got no info on previous owners. Maybe the owner moved."

I leaned over to inspect the stickers on the back, but an alert popped up in my eye window. Someone had already made us an offer on Scoutsy. A big one. "We'll take it," I said.

Abi's head whirled toward me so quickly I could hear the fluid crack in her neck. "Already?" she asked.

I tapped my toe. We waited too long and the star-faced girl was going to get wise. "Wrap it up," I said. As soon as she had packaged the device in a styro case, we hurried back to the train, eager to get out of the heat and cash in on our find.

Maybe if it hadn't been so hot, or if my head hadn't been so sore from our encounter with the asshole from Fremont, I might have noticed the offer came from an unconfirmed account named "Estrella1996."