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The evening smells of the club's overheated air, cheap mint from cocktails, and self-confidence mixed with rhythm. The gaze slides over the dancing body like a magnetic tape that you can't take your eyes off. Everything happens as if in a light fog of flirtation: promises are generous, words stick like glitter to the skin, and all this, of course, is ‘just one dance’.

A scene where desires look like a game, but in reality are an old, familiar hunt. A little arrogance, a little theatre, a little self-irony. The music does its job: it spins, it rocks, it turns you on - and seems to whisper - come on, just this evening, nothing more.