Bruno.

In the small hours, Bruno goes out alone with a recorder and captures whatever he finds: a container slamming shut by the Old Port, the seagulls at three, the mistral battering the antennas along the harbor. He publishes none of it. On his bathroom wall there's a map of Marseille with red dots: each dot, a place where he recorded something. He's been doing this for three years and hasn't shared a single file. He says they're not ready; they've been not ready for three years. The most intimate work he has, he keeps where nobody else hears it.

On the chest you're wearing his portrait: a mantis facing forward, the lime jacket, the silver chain. And a fact about the species, outside the image: the mantis becomes active at dusk and in the early hours of the night, exactly when Bruno performs best. That's why a hoodie suits him so well: it's the garment for going out when the city turns its volume down. On the chest, his calm face; everything else, in his biography. Signed by me, Yago Partal.