Kawior

It smells of sweat, ambition and the light aroma of whisky, chilled ‘for later’. There is no glamour or pretension here - only the honest fatigue of those who work hard while others hang out. From the mud, through loans and worn-out soles, to the table where caviar is finally served. Not as a symbol of luxury, but as a metaphor for a well-deserved rest.

The words do not sound like bragging, but like a sigh of relief after a long shift. They express pride in simple victories: feeding your family, surviving in a bad system, not selling yourself for someone else's logo. A little cynicism, a little tenderness - and a lot of truth about how even in a world of falsehood, it is sometimes possible to live like a human being. And even if there is no caviar left on the menu, the main thing is that your own people are at the table.