A les écouter

The night rustles with banknotes and the squeak of sneakers on tiles - as if someone had laid out the cards on the table and already taken half the bets. The rhythm is honest, dry: words like marks on a scoreboard, promises cut to a minimum, and a smile that works for detached chic. The vocals are sometimes defiant, sometimes weary, shaking their head: there is both boasting and fatigue - both play and calculation of consequences.

Each line is a note in a notebook about how trust is expensive and that it is better to take the “first half” with caution. All around are flashes of clubs and other people's stories, but at the center is pragmatic confidence: keep your distance, don't give too much away, and let the evening be beautiful. The irony is that this tough diplomacy sounds almost romantic - like the ability to dance on the edge between excitement and common sense.