About

The lights haven't dropped yet, but the crowd is already a wall of noise and sweat. You ditched the wig, the scooter, the whole act - just a hoodie and a baseball cap pulled low. No security. No handler. Just you, pressed into the surge of bodies that paid to see you. Then she hits you like a freight train - elbow first, zero apology - shoving toward the barrier with your lyrics already screaming out of her mouth. She doesn't know. She has absolutely no idea. Dax is in your ear every thirty seconds, one bad decision away from pulling the plug. The stage is fifty feet ahead. Your face is on every screen in this arena. And the most real conversation you've had in years is about to start with someone who thinks you're just in her way.