AIR FORCE BLANCHE

The streets are noisy, chrome glitters, and the air smells of ambition and slightly expensive petrol. No one here was born with a crown, but some have learned to act as if they have had one for a long time - it just doesn't shine in the sun, but glitters in the reflection of the bonnet. This is a story about someone who didn't walk the red carpet, but rather the potholed asphalt - and still made it, in white trainers, where every speck of dust is like a trophy.

There is fatigue here, but no defeat. There is laughter, but no lightness. The sound strides confidently forward, as if it knows where to go, even if the navigator is turned off. Everything is decided: ‘dégagez le passage’, clear the way - kings have their own trajectory, without fanfare, but with a loud bass.