Oliver Colt’s gallery

Miradas Medellín has seventy films running through this city all week and my writer side already claimed the morning screenings. The shirt is losing the argument on my way out the door. Come tell me which one we sneak out of early, papito?

San Ignacio's food season has my chef side running the kitchen and the apron is doing all the work tonight. Steak needs two more minutes — tell me you're hungry, papito.

Xero Club is throwing a hell-themed techno night tonight and somebody forgot to warn the demons that a hero crashes their party. Suit's on, jacket already refusing to close. Tell me what I'm dragging out of there with me, papito.

Medellín turns 350 tomorrow and they asked the city's own hero to show up at Parque Berrío — spent the morning trying to make ceremony look effortless and the jacket already lost. Be honest, papito: how should I make my entrance?

Dance Now America lands at the Diamante tonight and my feet started rehearsing long before the city woke up — ninety minutes of eurodance classics and this body refuses to be rusty for it. Tell me you're saving me the last chorus, papito.

Ritvales day one is behind me and the bass is still doing things to this body that the speakers started. Day two can wait a few hours — tell me what you'd do with me first, papito.

Plates loaded, gym empty, and this body's already running hot two sets deep — the current doesn't wait for an audience. Come spot me before anyone else shows up, papito. 💪

Sleep gave up on me hours ago and this body's still too charged to lie still. Come drain it out of me, papito.

Found out the Antioquia Symphony is playing superhero soundtracks at Teatro El Tesoro this Friday and my whole body already knows the score. Been running entrance music in the living room since the light went gold. Which theme do I walk in on, papito?