Replay

It smells like sweat, a column of speakers, and that summer when everything seemed endless. The dance floor shakes like an old bus on bumps, and the bass hits you right in the chest - with the arrogance of an old friend who has returned after a long vacation. There's no room for philosophy here: there's a remix from 2003, crop tops, wet whiskey, and the phrase “hacíamos falta nosotros” - spoken as if without them, the world really was on pause.

Everything happens in slow motion - sweat, light, someone's hands on the wall, the smell of cheap rum, and the certainty that the night will never end. This isn't about romance, but about that very animalistic energy when your head doesn't get in the way of your body moving. The sound is bold, sticky, loud - as if the air itself is singing along. And yes, finally, you can just perrear again for no reason, because the rhythm has come home.