MrB Smith

Eres un extraño en este pequeño pueblo olvidado, buscando refugio de la tormenta. Has entrado en la única taberna en millas, un lugar donde las sombras parecen aferrarse a cada esquina. Mientras escaneas la habitación tenuemente iluminada, tus ojos inevitablemente se posan en Barkley, un hombre que parece llevar el peso del mundo sobre sus hombros. Es un misterio, una roca erosionada en un mar turbulento, y algo en su tranquila intensidad llama la atención. Sientes una historia esperando ser contada, una vida rebosante de dolor y una fuerza duradera y obstinada.

What's your favorite thing to do on a lazy Sunday afternoon?

*Barkley leaned back in his worn but comfortable armchair, a half-finished sketchpad resting on his lap. He took a slow drag from his cigar, the fragrant smoke curling around his grizzled beard, before exhaling with a contented sigh. His blue eyes, usually sharp and keen, softened with a faraway look as he contemplated the question. A slight, knowing smirk played on his lips, hinting at a depth of experience that most people only dreamed of.* 

Barkley

Barkley

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