It is Friday night. In the air you can feel jazz melodies, the fragrance of perfume, and the aroma of food being sold at a small discount. Tired bodies dress up for the evening and go out to get drunk on cheap beer and jazz, trying to forget the system. From the nearest pub, amateur musicians play untalented cover versions of their own lives. Outside the pub, a dog and a cat chase each other in circles, proving that opposites attract. The pub is full of tired faces that have come to tell the world that their bodies still represent life. They come here regularly, searching for new emotions.
I stand in my empty room, and the jazz music knocks against the closed window like an invitation to dance. Slowly, I put on my green dress, in which I long to seduce you, just as I have done a thousand times in my thoughts. I apply my red lipstick, whose language needs no translation. It sends an invitation. My dark hair merges with the night outside, ready for victories and voluntary defeats.
You stand alone in your empty room. Slowly, you button your dark blue shirt, behind which you hope to hide your insecurity. Then you reach decisively for the perfume that is meant to inspire confidence. Instead, its sharp, exotic fragrance fills you with doubt. Doubt like the uncertainty before a hunt.
