He reached for his old, scratched CD case and pulled out a disc that had seen better days. He didn't need to look at the label to know what it was. As the first rhythmic pulse of filled the air, the house seemed to exhale.
The music stayed steady, a heartbeat against the chaos of the storm. Thabo watched the rain dance in the streetlights, perfectly in time with the tempo. It felt like a conversation—the legend’s melodies calling out, and the summer sky finally giving its answer. Summer Rain (Tribute to Bojo Mujo)
As the female vocals began to swirl around the heavy kick drum, the first fat drop of rain hit the dusty yard. Plip. Then another. Plap. He reached for his old, scratched CD case
