Nie was gehört

The city breathes gasoline and bass. Neon lights reflect faces that have long since stopped sleeping - they just move, count money, check their phones, and promise themselves, “Just a little more, and that's it.” Everything is noisy, sparkling, crackling with speed. There are no strangers here - everyone knows the value of a minute and knows how to keep up appearances even when they feel empty inside.

The world seems to be made of glass and smoke: it shines, but it cuts. Somewhere between labels, codes, and Gucci hides a stubborn desire to survive - beautifully, loudly, without the right to weakness. And there is a certain romance in this cold glitz: when instead of sleep there is the road, instead of a plan there is instinct, and instead of a future there are only lights flashing ahead.