The morning was crisp and clear. The Hague was only just beginning to stir, but someone had already found their rhythm. Plate had a list of addresses saved in his notes — potential spots for their future vinyl store. Real plans, of course, called for a bit of luck and beautiful views: linden trees whispering along the canals, a sea breeze full of encouragement, distant seagull calls, and the soft clang of trams.

First stop: Denneweg — a street that felt like a page from a design magazine, nothing but showrooms, galleries, antiques, and wine. A realtor in a light shirt was already waiting by the door of a former barbershop: a clean rectangular space with high ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows. Great foot traffic. A storefront that seemed to come alive in front of the observer’s eyes. Plate could already hear the music playing, see visitors flipping through records in search of something unique.

Next came Papestraat — louder, and somehow closer to heart. A three-story building next to the city’s best coffee spot. Until recently, it had housed a small shop of handmade goods. It was the kind of place you could work, drink tea, and build a little corner lined with shelves and turntables in. The classic Dutch staircase alone was enough to inspire joy.

The day hadn’t gone in vain. Plate came home with photos of two key locations. One looked like an album cover, the other like a B-side you want to play over and over again. Needle smiled at what she saw. Somewhere between those two streets, their next chapter was quietly going underway.