GOAT

Sounds like the nighttime pulse of the city: leather, metal, and gasoline underfoot. The rhythm beats like footsteps on wet asphalt - the crunch of chains, the click of a gun, and the thought creeps into your head that today, the whole world is one big showcase of expensive watches and empty stares. Here, bragging isn't just a style, it's a working posture - chains shine, stacks of bills are piled up, and it all glows like a Christmas tree against a backdrop of sweat and smoke.

The second thought is about the code: work or nothing, money instead of words, respect earned in fights and night races. There is a kind of everyday warmth in this arrogance - advice instead of affection, lessons for a son instead of fairy tales, familiar harshness as a form of care. The irony is that beneath the avalanche of threats lies a simple formula for survival: hold on to what you have, don't give up, and pay your dues in a world where the rules are written on dead-end streets.