Page 22 of Revv

I take one sip and immediately regret it.

“Nope.”

I set the mug down and stare at it like it betrayed me.

Guacamole keeps eating.

“Yeah, must be nice having no standards.

Trash coffee is still coffee, and I have a set to finish.

My little work corner is tucked near the window in my bedroom, half music equipment, half controlled chaos. Laptop, controller, headphones, a notebook full of track lists and messy timing notes, one dying plant I keep forgetting exists, and a tiny framed picture of me behind the booth at one of my first real gigs.

I was nineteen in that picture. Eyeliner too thick. Smile too big.

Terrified, but acting like I wasn’t.

I kind of miss that girl.

She thought getting behind a booth at some packed bar downtown was the biggest thing that would ever happen to her.

She had no idea how hard it would be to make people take her seriously.

Men called her cute before they called her good. Promoters gave better slots to guys who barely knew their own equipment. People acted surprised when she knew what she was doing, like a girl behind the booth was supposed to be decoration first and talented second.

I had to work twice as hard for half the respect.

But I loved it.

That part never changed.

I put my headphones on, open the mix for Friday night, and stare at the waveform for a few seconds, trying to figure out where the hell it stopped working.

Neon Tide gave me midnight.

Fucking midnight.

Not the early slot where people are still ordering food and pretending they came to talk. Midnight means the room is already warm. Drinks are flowing. Bodies are moving. People are loose enough to stop caring how they look.

That’s when I like them best.

I don’t want to beg the room for attention. I want to take it.

Build the beat slow. Let them feel it in their chest. Make them wait a little, just enough to get hungry for it, then drop it hard enough that everybody forgets they were ever standing still.

That’s why I started. Not because I wanted attention.

I mean, okay, sure, attention is nice.

I’m not dead.

Music was the first thing that ever listened to me. Back then, when home felt heavy and everyone’s mood could ruin the whole house, I could put on my headphones and make something work.

The beat did what I told it to.

The drop hit where I wanted it.

All that noise turned into something I could control.