Impardonnable

Down the corridor of night - like black fabric pierced by sharp sounds: a gun whispers smoke, a suitcase stuffed with illusions and packages, and cotton fields still singing about old scores. They seem to be dressed in rhinestones and feline audacity, but beneath the glitter - the echo of slave lines and empty wallets, where card status is sewn in. The atmosphere is cold and velvety: luxury next to the smell of cocaine, and it all shimmers like a shop window behind which no one is in a hurry to love.

Feelings are like the cogwheels of a clock: a broken heart doesn't feel much, but it has learned to imitate. Resentments are loud, almost theatrical; the desire for revenge sounds like a chorus that is both nauseating and hot at the same time. Decency argues with truth: children are born to preserve the facade; friendship is a sale, the crown belongs to someone, and the kingdom belongs to those who know how to be a little colder. The result is a mixture of bitterness and irony, like coffee drunk in a coat on the balcony: it invigorates, but it doesn't warm you much.