Brad Greenwood stepped off the bus with nothing but a guitar, a duffel bag, and a heart full of dreams. Brooklyn rose around him like a promise — gritty, electric, alive. Somewhere in this maze of brick and steel was the record deal he'd been chasing since the cornfields of Indiana.
At least, that’s what Jeffy had told him.
But the welcome party wasn’t a polished executive with a golden pen. It was Jeffy himself, grinning wide and shifty-eyed, dragging Brad straight into a whirlwind of basement raves, rooftop jams, and smoke-filled backrooms. Rent was due. Jeffy needed help. And Brad, desperate and disoriented, found himself sinking deeper into a world of wild parties and stranger promises — each step pulling him further from the music that once defined him.
In Brooklyn, it seemed, survival came first — and dreams were a luxury he might not afford.

Lofty Dreams