J'fais mes affaires

It smells of asphalt and anger. Where dawns don't turn pink, but fade away in the smoke of cheap cigarettes. Here, dreams are wrapped in cellophane, and the future is just another deal, another breath. Everything goes round in circles: night, concrete, tired voices and the word ‘earn’, which sounds like a prayer.

Between the sea and a complete asshole, they choose according to circumstances, but loyalty is without compromise. Brothers are nearby, the street is bloody, nerves are on edge, and still - forward. Because no matter how many ‘galleys on the galley’ there are, one rule remains: do your business while your heart is still beating.