Left And Right

A thick, sticky evening when the city seems to be made of steam and bass. The air is vibrating, the light isn't blinking - it's winking. Everything moves in the same rhythm: bodies, thoughts, even shadows. There's no room for philosophy here, only instinct and a little bit of audacity. Every word crackles like ice in a glass, every line smells of sweat, leather, and something too alive to be called decent. And while someone is searching for meaning, it's already been found here - between the beat and the breath, between "left-right" and "up-down." The world narrowed down to movement, to the pleasure of being in the moment, where nothing is promised, but everything happens.