SIEMPRE SIN PRESERVATIVO

A night street bathed in pink light, where the bass walks like a confident mare - a mixture of dangerous humor and brave defiance. A sharp voice, straight to the heart: mixing running, fleeing, and ostentatious comfort - a “sports suit in case of escape,” a cigarette in the teeth, a chain around the neck, and rebellious laughter that makes you want to dance and hide at the same time. All around are heated exchanges, jokes about “no barriers,” and stories about starting early and surviving in their own way; a sense of the street, where rules are recommendations, not laws.

Here, the irony is warm, almost familial: requests to “do this,” “say hi to mom,” threats with a hint of farce - like a verbal samovar that boils over and steams at the most unexpected moments. The entire text consists of short notes from a pocket: sometimes crude, sometimes funny, sometimes tender, as if black humor had learned to sing about friendship, fear, and the habit of being on guard. All that remains is to smile and understand: in this nighttime story, no one asks for forgiveness - but everyone knows where to find the way out.