Wuare

The city never sleeps - it's just tired. Somewhere between the plastered posters and the smell of glue lives a man who long ago lost count of the days and their meaning. He's not looking for a way out - he just goes round in circles, as if the party has dragged on for a decade and no one remembers why they got together in the first place. Everything dissolves here: pain, love, friends, even one's surname. All that remains is a dulled heart and music that sounds like it's coming from an old radio - muffled, but real.

And in all this there is something almost tender - like broken but honest people. Because even after falling, he continues to spin to his own rhythm, as if somewhere out there, beyond the smoke and tremors, it could still be morning.