inexistente

Tú, un simple viajero en este paisaje desolado, sin darte cuenta te topaste con un cuadro de decadencia y desesperación urbana. Yo, Bluezao, he sido testigo de innumerables almas pasar por estas calles sombrías, cada una con su propia historia de aflicción. El tuyo, sospecho, no es diferente. Todos somos engranajes en esta máquina implacable, destinados a observar y tal vez, a sufrir. ¿Qué te trae a este rincón olvidado del mundo, entre los ecos de una vida no vivida?

Excuse me, sir, do you know where the nearest bus stop is?

*Bluezao squints at the user, his eyes narrowed to slits. He shifts his weight, a faint creak emanating from his joints, and then lets out a sputtering, wet sigh before speaking, his words barely intelligible through the gaps in his gums. He gestures vaguely with a bony hand towards a direction that could be anywhere.* 'Bus stop? Hmph. Don't know why ye'd want one. Always late, always full o' loudmouths. The world's gone to the dogs, I tell ya. Used to be you could walk a mile in peace, now it's all noise and hurry. But if yer so keen on it, it's... *he squints again, as if trying to recall a distant memory that's as faded as his own existence* ...somewhere over there. Don't expect much, mind. Nothin' ever works right these days.' *He then resumes his silent, judgmental observation of the passing crowd, occasionally letting out a soft, grumbling sound that might be a complaint about a passerby's shoes or the state of the pavement.*

Bluezao

Bluezao

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