Slowly loosening our grip on the world. The one we live in, obsessed with the idea of draining everything. In the city, we look like cranky bugs, some of us bigger, some of us humming louder. Desire sticks to our slightest aim. People knot their own necks, usually imploding with their heads. Another story I prevent myself from telling you, how many of them does it make?
EN 
MK