PINK.PONK.LOUD.

As night falls, I slowly sweep two headlights across a courtyard in Berlin’s nightlife district. A low rumble builds – six motorbikes roar in, splitting into two formations. My raised arms cue the engines to scream; when I lower the lights, they fall silent.

The noise grows unbearable, the air thick with fumes. Suddenly, pink pigment bursts from the crowd, hitting me. The engines howl once more, then disappear into the night.