Inkognito stands at the edge of a Buenos Aires rooftop as the evening cools, a jacaranda petal resting on the rim of his glass. Below, the city hums. Someone has set a vinyl spinning — house, clean and steady — and the groove carries easily across the open air. A folded napkin sits on the table beside him: a number, and the words _call me_.

Reisender's _I Can't Forget You_ is the record playing. It fits the hour precisely — unhurried, warm, just enough pull to keep the night moving without rushing it anywhere.