Anne and Charles 
Charles woke up on the floor, little shards of Bach and Mozart clinging to his jacket. He had to blink to make the room stop spinning.
The store manager was peering over his limp body looking pale and as if he were about to have an aneurism.
“What…what happened?” Charles asked dizzily.
“According to the witness we spoke to, she said you tried to reach up onto one of the shelves and some records toppled down onto your head and were knocked out. She was quite agreeable, even offered to call for an ambulence. Such a nice lady,” the man said.
“Nice? Lady? I beg your pardon…” Charles had to lay back down. He feared he may have gotten a concussion.
“Now sir, you need to be reasonable, if you are fine to stand up, I can get you a taxi,” the man offered.
“Yes, that would be nice,” Charles said, getting to his feet.
“Oh, and before I forget, the woman left this for you,” the man said extending a small card to Charles.
It was her name and phone number.
“Anne,” Charles said grumpily.