On a Kentro

Standing when your legs are shaking is an art form in itself. Especially when the world around you is whispering that it's time to give up, but inside you there is a stubborn belief that “Oluva will cover it up.” There is no pathos here, only fatigue, rhythm, and a little bit of hooliganism. Everything is real - the noise of the street, dreams of paper (the green kind), and the habit of thanking heaven even in traffic jams. Every beat is like a step on hot asphalt: it hurts, but you keep going. Blessings fall like rain in the rainy season, and you just hold out your palms and smile - because you're alive, standing and moving.