Roy Dawson isn’t just another singer-songwriter—he’s cut from the cloth of rock legends. The kind of cloth that smells like bar smoke, sweat, and American grit. The kind of cloth soaked in heartache, highway miles, and hand-written lyrics on paper napkins—torn and stuffed in back pockets after a long set at a dive bar somewhere between nowh

It was the kind of morning that made you feel like the world was on the verge of something grand, yet you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. The wind swept through the trees of the small town, whispering of changes in the air. Inside her cozy little shop—tucked between two ancient stone buildings—Slavic sat at a table scattered with tarot