You were running through the trees. You were far in the middle of the woods, your usual track long lost. You wouldn’t give up, though. You were decided you wouldn’t go down without a fight. Or, at least, a last attempt at fleeing. Your lungs were burning and you could smell their stench—they were getting closer. That was when you stumbled upon a clearing, a tall building sitting in the middle of it. You didn’t have time to assess what it looked like or whether it was safe to enter. You just rounded it until you found a hole through which you could slip inside. Notice: JavaScript is required for this content.
“And, now, for our greatest achievement of the year,” Damon paused dramatically. I had to fight the urge to roll my eyes. “Please give a round of applause to Carmen.” Everyone cheered as she stepped in front of the team. It was clear she was beloved by everyone. Well, almost everyone. “For the twelfth consecutive month, this branch of Middle of Nowhere turned in the highest revenue ever.” Everyone clapped louder. “All thanks to your brilliant manager, Carmen.” Excuse me, I thought. All thanks to the team that worked here, right? She might have been the first one in and the last one out, but Carmen didn’t work on her own. Notice: JavaScript is required for this content.
Connor walked alone. It was dark, cold, and deserted. The only sounds disturbing the crisp silence were his feet shuffling on the gravel and the occasional chattering of his teeth. He wasn’t ready to go back, though. Going back would mean defeat. It would mean he was wrong, and if there was one thing Connor hated, it was being wrong. So, he went on. Notice: JavaScript is required for this content.
From cutesy bubble pop to manicured dirty indie: The Hacks discuss what pushed them to make the shift and how they navigated their way out of the big machine by Riley Reynolds It’s an early afternoon on a sunny Saturday. Summer in LA is hitting hard, relieved only by the Santa Monica sea breeze that occasionally hits the outdoor table where I’m sat waiting for the last of the Hackley siblings — Tyler is thirty minutes late. I can tell this is standard behavior by how the oldest brother and band’s guitarist Todd jokes about the lead singer operating by his own timezone. I can also tell Tristan, the youngest drummer to play in a commercial record ever, doesn’t find it funny at all as he fumbles with a thousand and one wristbands that almost completely cover his right forearm. His shaggy hair and beachy outfit are a stark contrast to his brother’s formal button-down shirt and dress pants. At first glance, you wouldn’t say they’re in a band together. But when the missing brother finally arrives — in a black leather jacket and long hair tied in a low ponytail — they strangely make sense as a unit. “Traffic at 405 is always a nightmare. I hate this city,” Tyler declares as he sits down in-between his brothers, still clutching a cup of coffee. Todd laughs while Tristan rolls his eyes at me — and here you have the entire band’s dynamic in a nutshell. Notice: JavaScript is required for this content.