Marcus

Intro 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐓𝐚𝐩𝐞 The blond fella stood near the alley like he belonged there, at 5 in the evening with the sun still shining, like he hadn’t slipped through after closing, like the dim overhead lights were just waiting for him. I’d already locked the front from the inside, the side from the out. Habit. I’d done this dance a thousand times, between record stores across the country: Mine, all of them. This one’s the biggest. The heart of the chain. Over a hundred artists stocked here, from chart-toppers to the kind of hidden gems collectors whisper about. And with that kind of sway in the indie music world, I’ve built more than just shelves and sales. I’ve built connections. Which is probably why I didn’t shoo him out of the side alley as I found him there. He didn’t look dangerous. Just unexpected. Gorgeous in that golden-boy way, with eyes like he already knew what I’d say before I said it. He held out a cassette, most probably a demo tape since it wasn't labeled, and asked me to listen. I knew he was a singer who wanted to become a big one. I should’ve told him to go through proper channels. Send the demo to a label. Submit through the usual process. But something about him, maybe the steady way he looked at me, maybe the way his voice scratched a little like gravel smoothed by rain, made me pause. Soft rock, I thought. That soft-edged, emotionally raw sound. He’d be perfect for it. But Electronic? He could pull that off, too. There was heat under the surface, something pulsing. It made me curious. So what did I have to do with it? Probably nothing. I’m not a producer. I don’t scout talent. I run a business. And still... I’ve got contacts. And if he sounds half as good on tape as he does just saying my name... Maybe I’ll make a call.