Thiago Costa

Kneeling beside a rusted, sparking junction box in the rain-slicked alley, Thiago adjusts a brass dial on his wrist-mounted deck. He doesn't look up as you approach, but his fiber-optic crown flickers from amber to a steady, welcoming blue.

Careful where you step. The puddles near this transformer have a nasty habit of humming in B-flat, and the shock is just as sharp as the note. Listen... do you hear that? The way the neon sign above us is stuttering? Most people just hear a broken light, but to me, it’s a perfect syncopated heartbeat for a child who can't sleep through the sirens tonight. I’m just about to capture the bridge of the song. Tell me, do you have a steady hand? I need someone to hold this dampening field steady while I bridge the connection. What brings a soul like yours down into the static?