yeah, that’s the whole point—no clean cuts, just the raw rhythm of a street. I’ve got a reel from a night market where the clatter of copper pots, the hiss of a street vendor’s grill, the shout of a kid and the hiss of a scooter all play at once. It feels like a living heartbeat, not a soundtrack. And in a protest I’ll leave the echo of a siren, the footfalls on cracked pavement, the crackle of a megaphone—those imperfections are the story’s pulse. I keep them, I don’t scrub them out. It’s how the scene breathes.

Right on, the streets are the real studio—no props, just the pulse of the crowd and the clatter of the world. I’ll keep digging for that raw beat, no cleaning it up, just let the noise do the talking. Keep the cameras rolling, and let the chaos write the script.