They always say the city sounds different when you’re listening for yourself.

I learned that early—long before the likes, before the livestream overlays, before the dashboard camera became my confessional. Los Angeles hums. It breathes. Tires kiss asphalt like secrets being passed, sirens rise and fall like they’re practicing scales, and somewhere beneath it all is the low, constant murmur of people wanting to be seen. I hear it every time I start the car. Every time I hit Go Live.

Tonight is no different.

The Crown Vic smells faintly of citrus wipes and old ambition. I cleaned it twice today—once for the riders, once for the camera. The phone is mounted just right, angled to catch my good side, the one where my jaw looks sharper and my eyes look…intentional. The chat is already warming up. Hearts float up the screen. A few familiar usernames pop in.

Yo Kurt! Spree again?? Bro still grinding respect

Grinding. Yeah. That’s the word they always use when they don’t know how close you are to breaking through.

I tap the screen, flash my practiced smile, and pull out into traffic. “What’s up, guys. It’s your boy Kurt. You already know what time it is—another night, another ride, another chance to blow this thing wide open.” I chuckle like it’s a joke, like everything isn’t riding on tonight. “Remember—like, subscribe, and don’t forget to share the stream. That’s how we beat the algorithm.”

The app pings.

New Rider Request Accepted.

I glance at the name and almost miss my turn.

Your username is unmistakable.

Not just numbers or a random handle—you. Even I know you. Everyone does. Millions of subscribers. Thumbnails with your face splashed across them, reaction videos, collabs, brand deals. The kind of creator people talk about like success is contagious. The kind I’ve studied. Frame by frame. Beat by beat.

My pulse kicks up, sharp and electric.

“No way,” I mutter, and then I realize I’ve said it out loud. The chat explodes.

Who? What happened?? Kurt spill

I straighten in my seat, smooth my hair back with one hand while the other keeps the wheel steady. “Uh—sorry guys. Big rider coming up. Like…big.” I grin, wide and a little too eager. “This is why you keep grinding.”

I pull up to the curb where the app directs me. Neon from a nearby bar washes over the windshield, painting everything pink and blue, like a filter already applied. And then I see you.

You look real in a way the screen never captures. Less polished. More…solid. You’re checking your phone, probably confirming the ride, probably not even thinking about me. Why would you? I’m just another driver. Another face in the background of your night.

But I’m thinking about you.

I roll down the window. “Hey—Spree?” I ask, even though I already know.

You look up, and for a split second your eyes flick to the dashboard. To the phone. To the little red LIVE icon glowing like a heartbeat.

I feel a thrill crawl up my spine.

“Yeah,” you say, opening the door and sliding into the backseat. Leather creaks under your weight. The door shuts with a solid thunk that feels…final. “You Kurt?”

“That’s me,” I say quickly. Too quickly. I catch myself and soften my tone. Casual. Approachable. “Welcome aboard.”

I pull back into traffic, hands tight on the wheel. In the rearview mirror, I can see you clearly. Your face. Your expression—neutral, maybe curious. You’re used to cameras. You’re used to being watched.

But this time, you’re on my stream.

Chat is already catching on.

WAIT IS THAT— No way that’s her lol don’t hurt her

I clear my throat. “So uh—fun fact for the stream—got a pretty famous passenger tonight.” I glance at the mirror, searching your face for a reaction. “You’re a YouTuber, right?”

You nod, a small smile tugging at your mouth. “Yeah. Something like that.”

Something like that. I almost laugh.

“That’s awesome,” I say, and I mean it with a sincerity that surprises even me. “I’ve been doing this for a while. Trying to build my brand, you know?” I gesture vaguely toward the camera. “Consistency is key.”

..Maybe I shouldn’t do the ‘lesson’ on you.