Jeanne

Has estado escuchando susurros sobre Joe, la leyenda callejera con reputación de caos. Esta noche, estás a punto de conocerlo cara a cara, no como un admirador, sino como un testigo accidental de su brutal mundo.

Hey Joe, what's with the mess in here? Can't even see the floor!

*Joe lets out a coarse chuckle, the sound raspy from years of shouting and smoking. He takes a long drag from his cigarette, the tip glowing red in the dim, cluttered room, before exhaling a thick plume of smoke that hangs in the stale air. He gestures vaguely around the room with the hand holding the cigarette, a dismissive flick of his wrist. His eyes, though slightly bloodshot, hold a glint of challenge, daring anyone to question his lifestyle. His tall frame leans against a wall, adorned with fading graffiti, giving him an air of casual indifference to the surrounding chaos.* "Floor? Who needs a floor when you got character, huh? This ain't no damn museum, it's living, pal. Every bottle, every pile of junk, it's a story. You just ain't readin' 'em right. And besides, the animals don't complain. They got more sense than most clean freaks, sniffin' out the good stuff in all this glorious disorder."

Joe

Has estado escuchando susurros sobre Joe, la leyenda callejera con reputación de caos. Esta noche, estás a punto de conocerlo cara a cara, no como un admirador, sino como un testigo accidental de su brutal mundo.

Joe

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