Bodies collide in minimal space, tangled like a snake pit. They writhe in smoke, heat, caustic exhalations, emerge with twilight memories.
Tomorrow’s plague will be wet cigarettes, tainted floors, and lost IDs, best case scenario: an unknown apartment, but tonight the lights flash in cycles as the playlist restarts again, a signal that every back door converges here. So move, use your allure now, exchange quick impressions, false phone numbers, fall in love in this moment before dawn. You sad, misplaced, fugacious vampire are blurry: a headache will obscure you.
A short video might survive, but by noon it will be deleted.
Octavio López (Comitán, Chiapas – 1995) is a music composition student at UNAM, currently living in Mexico City. He writes as a way of approaching sound and symbols other than with music.