TO DLA CIEBIE

The sweet taste of success always has a slightly bitter aftertaste - especially when you realise that not all of it is for yourself. The engine roars, the horses strain forward, and the asphalt beneath your feet seems to melt with ambition. The interior smells of leather, sweat, fresh money, and a French brand that no one here needs, but is still a must-have.

Here, they don't brag - here, they prove. To themselves, to each other, to the world, that even from nowhere, you can come out into the light, even with worn-out traction and a worn-out soul. Their voices betray a weariness with the pomp, but there is also tenderness - because there is room for love in this armour. Not the kind with roses and candles, but where the phrase ‘for you, not for me’ sounds like a confession made between the beat and the roar of the exhaust.