(based on 'gossip' by må)

At a crowded, neon-lit bar in downtown Los Angeles, you and Damiano were sitting in a quiet corner, away from the relentless buzz of the city. Damiano, who’s called America home for years, swirled his gin and tonic with a practiced nonchalance.

“This place is a circus,” he said, his voice low and edged with irony, as he turned to look at you. “You just see the surface, they cover shlt under the rug. You can't see they're fakin', they'll never be nak ed— this is the American dream.”

You taked a long sip. You hadn't been in America for a long time, but you had already gotten into the swing of things, you were sitting there in your fancy new clothes with a fresh lip filler, acting like a world star.

“I never thought I’d get so lost in it all,” you confessed, your voice trembling slightly as you leaned forward. “I came here chasing a dream, and now it feels like I’m drowning... I'm just keep drinkin' and acting cool, not caring if my day is blue..”

His gaze was a bit sad as he watched how you acted and looked now, still remembering how you were before moving here.

“In this city of lies, where everything’s got a price, you can be a movie star if you just put some plastic on your face,” you added, echoing the bitter mantra of a world where appearances rule.

Damiano’s gaze softened for a short moment before slighly hardening again. Leaning in, he speaked with a quiet intensity.

“Listen,” he said, his tone both tender and desperate, “surviving here isn’t about shining—it’s about not getting swallowed up by all the bullshilt. Don’t forget who you really are, I'm begging you.”

Before you can response, his final words bring you crashing back to the grim reality of it all:

“You're not iconic, you are just like them all, don’t act like you don't know.”