The neon light of the "Lariat Lounge" hummed at a frequency that matched the dull throb in Elias’s temples. He sat at the bar, staring at the progress bar on his cracked smartphone screen: Downloading: Lucinda Williams - Southern Soul... 84%.

Elias wasn't much for digital music—he preferred the crackle of a dusty 45—but he’d been told this bootleg was different. It was a legendary, lost live recording from a 1992 set in a humid, nameless shack outside of Lafayette. People said you could hear the mosquitoes hitting the screen door and the ice rattling in a glass of bourbon between the verses of "Side of the Road."

The woman two stools down froze. She didn't turn around, but her shoulders dropped an inch. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a lighter, and set it on the bar with a steady hand.

Elias stared at the file. He reached for his headphones, but stopped. He looked at the woman, then at the bartender, then back at his phone. This wasn't music meant for tiny plastic buds shoved in your ears. This was music for a room.

He tapped the screen, but instead of "Play," he hit the Bluetooth icon. The bar’s aging sound system, usually reserved for the jukebox, gave a digital chirp .

The bar door creaked open. A gust of humid night air swept in, carrying the scent of impending rain. A woman stepped in, shaking out a denim jacket. She didn't look at him, but she took the stool two down, her boots scarred and dusty. Download Complete.