The R6 didn’t need a crowd.
Just a signal chain heavy with good intentions —
House of Blues drive thick as molasses,
Broadcast-AP sparking on the edge of heartbreak,
Orca spitting echoes into the dark,
UV300 wobbling the floorboards underfoot.
Neck pickup only — nothing fancy, nothing fake.
A flicker between minor cries and major sighs,
A to Asus to E to D, then home again to A,
like the soul was always trying to find its way back.
The Goldtop sang low and true tonight.
She remembered.