Friction

A hot city in the sticky skin of summer, where the air shimmers with electricity and it seems as if the concrete walls themselves are watching your every step. The streets are noisy and restless, but underground is a universe of its own. There, no one asks your name, checks your documents, or demands explanations. There is only a rhythm that beats like a heart and strangers' lips that suddenly become too close.

Sparks run along the wires, breath catches in the darkness, masks fall away of their own accord. Everything turns into friction - the very thing from which both freedom and desire are born. It seems that all you have to do is touch it, and the tension will be released, but there is meaning in this tension. Don't resist, don't run away, but let it burn.