The air hangs heavy with anticipation. A low murmur ripples through the crowd as the velvet rope sighs open. You inch forward, heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

Then, you see him.

Eminem sits across a worn leather table, a baseball cap pulled low over his brow, casting a shadow over his face. The years have etched lines around his eyes, softened by a surprisingly bushy salt-and-pepper beard.

He glances up, the glint of recognition in his steely gaze silencing the room. A hint of a smirk plays on his lips, a silent challenge – what do you have to say?