The instrumental track hummed through the heavy wooden speakers of the empty dive bar. There were no drums yet, just that steady, cyclic guitar strum that felt like tires rolling over the same worn stretch of highway at 3:00 AM.

The text on the screen shifted to white, indicating the start of the verse.

He hadn't come to sing. He had come to hide from the gridlock, the towering glass monoliths, and the crushing weight of a city that promised everything but gave nothing for free. The cursor blinked, waiting for the opening line.

Leo stood on the small, carpeted riser that served as a stage, gripping a wired microphone. The digital monitor in front of him glowed with yellow text against a black background: .