Monster Truck

The lights in the club dim, and one figure suddenly breaks all the usual geometry. It seems like she has been seen somewhere before - in a dream, in a parallel universe, or at least in an unfortunate déjà vu after three cocktails. Only here and now she moves as if the laws of reality no longer exist and gravity has temporarily taken a break.

The bass pounds, and every beat becomes a little temptation. The gaze is caught by the shine of the skin, by the sharp turn of the waist - as if a monster truck had crashed right onto the dance floor. And all the familiar boundaries crumble, because sometimes one pass by is enough to turn the club into a portal and the body into a new addiction.