Huh

It smells like a hangover morning and someone else's cologne. The music is like a crumpled check after a sleepless night: you don't remember what happened, but you can feel that it was expensive. Between the lines, bills rustle, hotel doors slam, and somewhere beneath it all lies a weary “everything is the same.” No one is looking for meaning here - it drowned in a glass with ice. And yet there is a strange calm: when everyone around you is noisy, buzzing, pulling at your sleeve, you just walk - a little unsteadily, but at your own pace. Because life is not a race, but a carom with a beautiful echo.