Take Your Time

The booming bass feels like it's breathing right down my neck - it's hot, sticky, as if the air conditioner has surrendered to the summer. The air is electric, and even the silence between beats smells of leather and the light of neon signs. No one is in a hurry here; everyone already knows how this slow game of approximations will end. Their voices intertwine like touches - lazily, confidently, with that same "I know what you want." Everything else dissolves: conversations, doubts, even time takes a couple of steps back so as not to interfere. Just the rhythm, the warmth, and a little bit of cheeky pleasure in being understood without words.