You could almost taste the static. The first rip revealed a trembling MP3 of a band that never made it out of the basement—vocals scraped raw, drumsticks hitting the metal of a coffee table. Track two was a scanned pamphlet, margins annotated in a looping hand that hinted at a city mapped by alleyways and backdoors. Another folder held a short film shot on ancient VHS, the frame dancing like a candle in a draft; within it, a woman in a red coat recited the names of streets that didn’t exist on modern maps, as if she were consecrating them into memory.