Beneath the insurgent roundabout you can hear the bass rumbling on Friday afternoons, where vogue is danced, graffiti is painted, shouts are made, people are accompanied, bartered, and protests take place.
In a country with high rates of violence in times of pandemic, stories remain silent, silence so strong that it breaks the four walls of their house. It would never have been thought that the silence of their voices would explode, managing to find a home where they can raise their voices and say: "My name is ..."
M is traveling home, when an encounter makes her question whether or not the odds will play in her favor.
