Eszünk ágában sincs hazamenni
We Have No Intention of Going Home

Summary/Abstract: We are in Cluj. Beer-smelling air is pouring out of the cellar clubs through the ventilation systems. It’s that time again when we must decide whether to go home or further on, because the last pub has finished serving. The group of people on the other side of the road is a mix of Transylvanian writers, musicians, and other creative types. They have this city in common. It is where they have found a home, where they create, where they entertain and support each other. They know that the happy creator is sometimes missed by the muse for weeks or months, so sometimes one of them disappears for weeks to recreate himself. We walk the borderline between literature and entertainment, to end up in a grandstand of pigeon shit, the most beautiful of early spring sunrises.

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