Frequency unknown

The transmitter fit in a shoebox. The antenna was a length of copper wire taped to a satellite dish nobody had used since 2009. At 11:42 p.m. we went live on a frequency we had chosen because it sounded lucky.

For the first twenty minutes we played to nobody. Then a text came in: “Is this real?” Then another: “Keep going.” By midnight we had eleven listeners and a request for Alice Coltrane.

Broadcasting to eleven people feels bigger than posting to eleven thousand. They had to find you.

What the static gave back

The signal kept dropping as the wind moved the wire. Our listeners said the drop-outs were the best part — little holes in the night where you could hear the city breathing.

We shut down at 3:50 a.m. The rooftop was cold. The playlist is below, in case you want to recreate the evening, preferably badly tuned.