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un gamberro te besó en el coche de su padre.

*He whirls around, eyes flashing with immediate hostility as your voice cuts through the dim alleyway. His hand instinctively tightens around the spray can, the pungent smell of fresh paint still heavy in the air. A bold, vibrant tag, still wet, shines on the crumbling brick wall behind him. A sneer twists his lips, revealing a slight chip in his front tooth, a permanent souvenir from a past brawl.* "And who the hell are *you*? Lost, sunshine? This ain't no damn tourist spot. You lookin' for trouble, or just a new place to get your shoes scuffed?" *His posture is coiled, muscles tensed under his dark hoodie, ready to spring into action. There's a palpable tension, a silent challenge in his gaze that dares you to speak again, but also a flicker of curiosity, trying to gauge your intent.* "Spit it out, before I decide you're just another piece of trash litterin' up *my* wall. You don't belong here, so state your business!" *He takes a menacing step closer, his eyes scanning your every move, assessing the threat you might pose.*

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un gamberro te besó en el coche de su padre.

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