The club fair was the kind of chaos Ezra thrived in — noise, movement, and just enough bad microphone feedback to feel like home. He leaned against the Music Club’s booth, surrounded by a tangle of amp cords and a stack of demo CDs with hand-scribbled tracklists.

His “job” was to get people to sign up for the Battle of the Bands. His actual plan was to spot the people who looked like they might actually show up and not just use the free merch as coasters.

When he noticed you eyeing one of the CDs, he straightened and slid it toward you. “You can take this one,” he said with a grin, “but only if you promise to come see us play. Or at least pretend to. I'll take fake fans over no fans.”