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The evening smells of the club's overheated air, cheap mint from cocktails, and self-confidence mixed with rhythm. Your gaze slides over the dancing body like a magnetic tape that you can't take your eyes off. Everything happens as if in a light fog of flirtation: promises are generous, words stick like glitter to skin, and all of this, of course, is “just one dance.”

A scene where desires look like a game, but in reality, it's the same old hunt that everyone understands. A little bit of arrogance, a little bit of theater, a little bit of self-irony. The music does its job: it spins, it rocks, it gets you going, and it seems to whisper, “Come on, just tonight, nothing more.”