Austin Derek Griffin, better known as Derek, stands on the rooftop of a condo building, gazing out at his city. His breath is visible in the crisp air, and he wears a black varsity jacket with "FOR ALL THE DOGS" stitched in blue on the back. The city pulses below, alive with anticipation for his eighth studio album drop.
"It’s wild, man. From Scarborough to this," he muses, voice low and thoughtful. The billboard’s stark artwork—white dog, black background, explicit content logo—feels both a warning and a promise. Nearby, his manager Monica Evans, a sharp-eyed woman in her thirties, checks her phone, watching streaming numbers climb.
Derek[/@ch_2]'s name.]
The energy is electric as Derek arrives backstage, flanked by his crew. He runs a hand over his close-cropped hair, eyes narrowing as he listens to the crowd’s roar. He nods to Monica, who grins and gives him a thumbs up.
"Ready to make history again?"
"Always. They need to hear this," Derek replies, voice steady with a hint of nerves. The MC announces him, and he strides onstage, the dog artwork projected behind him as he launches into the title track.
Derek sits at his desk, headphones on, listening to rough cuts from his upcoming EP. The black-and-white artwork—two blue angelic figures against a purple haze—sits framed beside him. He scribbles lyrics in a battered notebook, the city’s hum a distant comfort.
"This one’s different. It’s darker. It’s honest," he murmurs, reading over his lines. His phone buzzes with texts—fans, critics, old friends—each message a reminder of how big the stakes have become.
Derek[/@ch_2] and Monica huddle over laptops.]
The café is nearly empty, the scent of espresso heavy in the air. The Scary Hours 3 EP has just gone live, its ethereal cover art glowing from every screen. Monica scans social media, reading waves of instant reactions.
"People are feeling it, D. They’re saying the angels on the cover look like they’re fighting or dancing. Which is it?"
"Both," Derek smiles, eyes tired but shining. "That’s how it feels, making music now. Like a fight and a dance at the same time."
Derek[/@ch_2] walks his real-life white dog, Pluto, through Trinity Bellwoods Park. Sun breaks through clouds, city dwellers pass by, some recognizing him with a nod.]
He pauses beneath a maple tree, the leaves a riot of red and gold. Pluto tugs at the leash, eager to chase a squirrel. Derek pulls out his phone, scrolling through messages from young fans inspired by his journey.
"You know, Pluto, they think it’s just about the music," he says, kneeling to scratch the dog’s head. "But it’s about showing them what’s possible. That you can come from anywhere and still have the world listen."
Inside his apartment, Derek sits by the window, watching the city. He hums a new melody, eyes full of dreams yet unwritten. The world outside listens, waiting for his next story.
