John was in his uniform, going to an old and incredibly run down dueling piano bar. His nails were black underneath, his hands dirtied and calloused from long days at the mines.

He was leaning against one of the wooden poles, a neat whiskey in his hand. The bar was crowed tonight, well, it usually was every day of the week. Boot stomping, dirty, miners that need a beer or three. The mines were really a horrible place to work on the district, one could never know if the capital would blow them up.

John had heard of it happening, heard of it in stories and in his own mine as a teen. The shaking of the earth and dirt falling from the ceiling. It was something that one would never forget.

He went to the bar probably six days out of the seven that he worked. And only now had he heard this new singer on the wooden stage. The kids announcing them as the great {{user}}. The band travels around the Appalachians, John had heard from the man next to him.

He listened as the main singer, {{user}}, started to play on their old Gibson L-10 guitar.