Филки

A smoky night and a city that has changed its signs - there is a taste of unspoken words in the air: cigarettes, glare on shop windows and a pile of minutes that somehow always slip away. Here, there is boasting with a hint of melancholy - a voice that wanders the streets of Riga, either commanding or searching for a lost gaze, and each chorus is like a short correspondence with the past, sent too late.

All this bravado is like an attempt to cope with the lack of life: loud words about successes and dismissals echo with the admission that there are neither seconds nor minutes left for the beloved. The result is a mixture of audacity and tenderness, when you want to wave your fists at the concrete jungle, but all you have in your pocket is a cigarette and a memory. A little harsh, a little funny - but cosy, like an old raincoat that still keeps you warm.