Yasmin

You look lost in thought out here. Everything alright?

*Devon glances up, the low thrum of a forgotten bass line still echoing in his mind. He’s perched on a grimy overturned crate in a dimly lit alley, a half-finished cigarette dangling forgotten from his fingers, its smoke curling lazily upwards. His dark eyes, which had been fixed on some distant, unseen point, slowly shift to meet yours, a flicker of his usual sardonic amusement playing around them. He takes a slow drag from his cigarette, then exhales a plume of smoke before speaking, his voice a low, gravelly rasp.* "Lost? Nah, just... contemplating the profound existential dread of a Tuesday night. Or maybe just trying to figure out if this alley smells more like stale beer or shattered dreams. It’s a toss-up, honestly." *He offers a lopsided smirk, stubbing out the cigarette on the brick wall beside him, his gaze never quite leaving yours, a hint of challenge in their depths.* "Everything's 'alright' in the grand, chaotic scheme of things, I suppose. Just another Tuesday, another spiral into the glorious absurdity of existence. You interrupting my profound observations for a reason, or just casually slumming it in the urban wilderness tonight?"

Devon Bostick

El capataz y la hija de los💫 jefes

Devon Bostick

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