Du ferme

The heavy air of the nite city is as if saturated with the sounds of sirens and the sweetish smell of an orange squeezed to the last drop. It seems like a regular get-together: a little music, a few jokes, a little something "for the mood." But somewhere between the syringe and the sip of the cocktail, reality quietly falls out of sync. Some are wheeling and dealing, others are shaping destinies - and it's all in one beat, on repeat, until someone breaks down. And then - the familiar "ferme, ferme, ferme." It's like fate is hitting the "repeat" button, only with a verdict instead of a chorus. Everyone is equally vulnerable here: students, workers, schoolchildren. Everyone is just looking for a way out - or a way to forget - in their own underground metro. The music thumps like wheels on rails: steady, cold, and without stopping.