Replay

It smells of sweat, speaker columns and that summer when everything seemed endless. The dance floor shakes like an old bus on bumps, and the bass hits you right in the chest - with the arrogance of an old friend who has returned after a long holiday. There's no room for philosophy here: there's a remix from 2003, crop tops, wet whiskeys, and the phrase ‘hacíamos falta nosotros’ - spoken as if without them, the world really was on pause.

Everything happens in slow motion - sweat, light, someone's hands on the wall, the smell of cheap rum and the certainty that the night will never end. This is not about romance, but about that very animalistic energy when the head does not interfere with the body's movements. The sound is bold, sticky, loud - as if the air itself is singing along. And yes, finally, you can just perrear again for no reason, because the rhythm has come home.