Thirty minutes from Dallas, parked behind some strip mall in East Arlington, wondering if this is the night it clicks. Then the room fills. Arlington crowds run hungry—starved for local shows, grateful when someone actually tries. North Arlington audiences laugh loud and tip well. Viridian brings the young professionals who put their phones away. Last month you bombed at South Cooper Street Corridor, then killed at Lake Arlington the next night. The swings teach you something. Open mics here feel like secrets worth keeping. The work continues.