Our city.
Our chosen family.

Nightlineghosts began with a borrowed tool and a ride that ran too late. One person stayed to help, another brought food, and somewhere between the last train and the first light, five strangers became a crew.

Now the rooftop garage is their meeting point. Boards lean against the bench. Bikes wait for a new chain. Someone is always playing a track nobody knows yet. The city can be loud; here, there is time to hear each other.

Queer, trans, nonbinary and genderfluid, they make room for different ways of being. Pronouns are remembered. Style is an experiment. Nobody has to earn their place by landing the hardest trick.