Paradiso Artificiale

Through smoke and concrete, a strange purification breaks through, not through holy water, but through scars, nickel, and grey smoke. It sounds like a confession written on the streets, where lanterns replace candles and deals and escapes replace prayers. The strength here isn't in the armour, but in the fact that you keep going even when the ground beneath your feet is cracking and every breath feels like a shard cutting your chest. In the rhythm, you can hear dignity being forged from the mud, the past being washed from palms, but not the guilt. The world around them seems distorted, but they cling to the beat as if it were the ultimate truth. The city is buzzing, the police are circling, someone is counting cash, someone is counting their chances of staying alive. And yet, there's a strange tenderness in this darkness: the pride of surviving without losing oneself.