Gotowy

The smell of smoke and sweet glamour hangs in the air, as if the evening itself has turned on a neon filter. This isn't about romance - it's more about instinct: live, take, move on red, because green will come on anyway. The world around you hums like a Ferrari engine idling, and every step is like a new verse, beaten out with a beat from the back alley.

You can't be soft here - on these streets, appetites rule. Those who don't bite are eaten. But beneath the rough rhythm, between the lines and bravado, something alive slips through - honesty, as stubborn as the smell of gasoline that has seeped into your fingers. And it seems that it is this honesty that holds everything together: the smoke, the light, the noise, and those who still know how to move forward without swallowing other people's rules.