На такси

Love here smells like gasoline, cheap air freshener, and slightly faded cassettes from the glove compartment. It's not about grand declarations, but about an evening when the city outside the window flows with neon, and the heart stubbornly repeats a single route - to her. It's simple: a couple of lines, a tape recorder, a driver who doesn't care anymore, and a feeling you can't shake off even at a red light. There's no room for casual passengers in this taxi - only for those who know how to wait until the song ends. And maybe this time spring really won't be late, it will just be silent, pretending to be a backdrop to an old melody where every note sounds like "I won't give it up."