Cadillac solitario

Midnight walks through unfamiliar streets always end the same way - old stories replay in my head. It seems like I'm driving a rusty Cadillac with a martini in my hand and a group of random passengers, but in reality, I'm captive to a single thought: someone never called back.

The city flashes with lights, palm trees stretch into the darkness, and a cigarette burns down in my fingers - and suddenly the past becomes closer than the present night. It seems like he wanted adventure, but he ended up in the same old trap: longing is stronger than any change. And even if dawn finds him asleep in the seat, it won't be the end of the story, just another turn in the road, where memory always cuts ahead.