FLACO

The blurred line between proud solitude and sudden joy is like lifting weights in the gym: sweaty, a little ridiculous, and therefore heartfelt. Here, dreams of a house by the sea coexist with children's pocket money - euros, dollars, pesos - and it seems that wealth is measured not only by the amount of money, but also by the number of promises made and gifts given that no one asked for. There is a readiness for revenge in his voice, and at the same time a softness, like that of a man with a gentle face: either wild or touchingly vulnerable; a contradiction that warms better than any blanket. Sleepless nights, Caribbean rhythms in the veins, and a desire to caramelize - words that are more about the taste of life than an escape plan. Mother is like a code: don't change, don't discuss, but respect; and if something goes wrong, the goal remains the same - make money, build a house, don't ask for favors on a silver platter. Love here is crazy, given until exhaustion; betrayal and rats are nearby, but they don't win, because at the core lies simple ambition and a little tenderness. This whole mixture is brutality that winks; a warrior man who is still learning to be tender, and it looks cute and almost homely.