Gotowy

The smell of smoke and sweet glamour hangs in the air, as if the evening itself has turned on a neon filter. This isn't about romance - it's more about instinct: live, take, move on red, because green will come on anyway. The world around you hums like a Ferrari engine idling, and every step is like a new verse, beaten out by a beat from the back alley.

You can't be soft here - in these streets, appetites rule. If you don't bite, you get eaten. But beneath the rough rhythm, between the lines and bravado, something alive slips through - honesty, as stubborn as the smell of petrol that has seeped into your fingers. And it seems that it is this that holds it all together: smoke, light, noise and those who still know how to move forward without swallowing other people's rules.