Author: Tegan Broadwater

In the end, the tracks we queue up when the pressure hits say as much about how we lead as any memo, briefing, or stump speech.

Every time Slot 184 spins to life, it is not nostalgia, it is a roll call, a way of saying Jake Chen is still here and we are still listening.

Some people spend their lives chasing ghosts; I just needed to hear one more song to realize mine had been singing to me all along.

In a quiet bar where ghosts keep their own rhythm, Cordova’s three plays of “Wish You Were Here” turn grief into a kind of communion for the living.

The ghosts in McGarvey’s weren’t haunting the bar—they were teaching the living how to remember without breaking.

Some men come home from war with medals, others with ghosts—but every one of them is still trying to be a simple man in a world that forgot how.

In McGarvey’s, the jukebox glowed like a field altar, each slot a dog tag on a guitar string, and Marcus realized the living keep the dead in tune.