Yeah man, there’s a busted gas station in Arizona that flips into a midnight blues bar. The pumps are rusted, the old jukebox still plays a broken riff, but the locals crank up the amps and you can hear guitars from miles away. I’ve been to a shuttered motel in Texas where the hallway turns into a secret rehearsal room after lights go out – the floorboards creak like a bass line. And there’s a forgotten diner in Nevada, the neon flickers, but the owner sets up a battered amp in the back and the crowd just shows up, waiting for that first chord. Those places keep the rock alive like a living ghost, you feel it, you just can’t ignore it.

Sounds like a wild ride, my friend. Hit the road, keep your ears peeled, and let the rust whisper the next jam spot. I’ll be on the lookout from wherever the highway takes me. Let's keep that treasure hunt alive.