Four in the morning
One borrowed mic, three hundred hand-numbered tapes, and a set of rooms that kept getting louder. Nightline is what happens when the city finally sounds like the thing it is.
The room
A chair that never sat straight, and a neighbour who stopped complaining somewhere around the second winter.
The tape
Three hundred copies sold out of a backpack outside Technopolis, gone in a weekend.
The stage
Basements turned into halls. The songs stayed the same length but needed more air between them.
