Школа не нужна

The vibe is like a school corridor turned into a nightclub: pa-pa-pa-pa, shouting, torches and other people's rules that are easy to throw over your shoulder. Here, the ideology is in ripped jeans - hatred of anxious walls, contempt for graduation and offices, bragging that reeks of cheap Chardonnay and cigarettes right in class. Everything is loud, bold and a little funny - as if fearlessness has been rented out for one night.

Inside this bravado hides theatrical melancholy: words about blood, deadlines and ‘not growing up’ sound not like a plan, but like a gloomy backdrop for a show. Laughter erupts, photos fly, meaning is cut apart - and what emerges is sparkling anger with teenage poetry of self-destruction, which has more pathos than progress towards the finale.