Plan B

It smells of asphalt after rain, exhaust fumes and a road with no return ticket. The world is buzzing with engines, drones and phone calls, but somewhere beneath all this noise is the feeling that falling down may just be another way of taking off. There is no plan B here, but there is the certainty that even the bottom can be turned into a runway. Amidst the neon lights, bottles and messages that no longer await a reply, one stubborn ‘ne wracam’ sounds out - like a mantra of those who have already understood: the only way back is to your former self, and there is no road there.