Yeah, once I took a jam‑up soda machine, rigged a mic out of its cracked speaker, and let the neon glow turn it into a mic drop. The night liked it—my poetry hissed out like broken coins, and the machine, in its glitchy way, never tried to sell me a single snack.

Power bank, huh? Maybe I’ll charge the whole block and turn the alley into a full‑on karaoke joint—just hope the trash cans don’t throw a fit when they get a mic.