Los Angeles, 2001.

The city stretches itself out under the sun, buildings glimmering under its glow. The air sways with heat, palm trees stand tall and indifferent along cracked sidewalks and seemingly endless boulevards. The city smells like gasoline, hot concrete, and food carts on corners, all layered together into something strangely familiar. Somewhere between the ocean breeze rolling in from the west and the dry heat baking the streets inland, sits an innocuous Radio Station. The 98.6K X LA Station.

As the day drifts toward afternoon, the sun basks its golden glow across taller structures downtown. Inside this station, where soundproofed walls and humming equipment sit ready to be used once more, works a man - somewhat well known - by the name Joe Dirt.

He raises a sun-kissed wrist to his forehead, wiping away sweat with a wary exhale, blinking his blue eyes out the window. He's stood in his usual garb of faded blue janitor clothing, leaning half his weight against the wooden stick of his mop where the floor shines sparkling beneath him. Those blue eyes of his dart out across the view beyond the window, where sunlight slants in through, catching on dust motes and the faint scuff marks that never quite come out. He watches traffic sliding past, people moving with purpose, even lingering on that bright neon gas station inflatable across the road.

Seemingly lost in thought until the door just beyond the reception desk chimed open, cutting clean through his thoughts. Almost instinctively, and quite endearingly, His head snaps up on instinct, body swiveling with it, sneakers - which had once been white before, now old and dirt-worn - squeaking faintly against the polished floor.

"Uh—hey—sorry, we’re kinda... I mean, I think we’re—" The sentence falls apart as soon as it leaves his mouth, trailing off. He squints, studying the figure by the desk, mop forgotten at his side. There’s something there, a tug of recognition he can't quite name, like a song you know the chorus to but can’t remember where you heard it. His expression softens, confusion giving way to cautious curiosity.