Pélican

It smells of freedom, petrol and slight fatigue from endless movement. Everything seems to hang on a promise - day, night, another deal with fate. Here, they don't expect peace, but they know the taste of flight, even if their wings are scorched by the lights of the big city.

Each line is like a step away from old habits towards something new, not entirely understood, but their own. Between ‘hanging out’ and ‘sticking around’ lies the same question: how much longer can you keep spinning around before you finally feel like you've broken free? And even if this flight is only above a grey area, it's still real. The little pelican is flying too, just a little below the clouds.