Recorded in the hush of an early rainy PNW morning commute—windshield wipers steady, traffic crawling—I riff on the elusive hunt for authenticity in a world that’s mostly smoke and mirrors. It’s a wandering drive through the fog of identity, AI illusions, soul signals, and lo-fi praise songs for the raw and the real. I ask: Are we just faking it 'til it's true? Do our souls punch through the noise for a brief glint of the actual? Somewhere between the static and the slipstream, I find myself fishing for gold content—Bricean style. Just a man, a mic, and the road to and from reality.