KAC WAWA

On the headphones, there's city noise, and inside, it's either a boiler or a radio with a misaligned frequency: the rhythm tugs at your shoulder, the words sometimes joke, sometimes cut. It's a mix of the desire for adrenaline and weariness from feelings that no longer respond to touch; it's all mixed with street roughness - warnings about who to hang out with and purely domestic, harsh metaphors about wounds of the heart and other kinds. You can hear the desire to run away from your own head, but you stay for another pointless check - it's just like a bad TV show, except the city itself is writing the soundtrack. A little cynical, a little diary-warm: it's about trying to regain a taste for life through other people's hands, and calmly accepting that "everything doesn't go according to plan." The vocals are sometimes listlessly indifferent, sometimes challenging - as if someone is learning to distinguish between habit and desire. And finally, a slight smirk: rules are broken, but habits remain, which means you can dance on the pier until dawn, while time mends what no one seriously intended to restore.